Weson DS7973 _ MTHtS i vy D Cornell University Hibrary Ithaca, New York CHARLES WILLIAM WASON COLLECTION 2 CHINA AND THE CHINESE THE GIFT OF CHARLES WILLIAM WASON CLASS OF 1876 1918 Cornell University Library DS 793.M7H45 “iia bt, vey TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA “(1oydvssopoyg asauiyg v &Q ojo) (VSVHT LY LVHL 10 ATINISOV A) TOHar ‘OVIN VI¥LOd TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA BY JOHN HEDLEY, F.R.G.S. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN Was psTt> rep W. 13\G TO “MY AIN FOLK AT HAME” CHAPTER I. I. III. Iv. VI. Vil. VII. IX. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. CONTENTS PAGE THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE ‘ : io (2 THROUGH THE GREAT WALL. 3 : 15 IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS. ; . 32 TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS . : : 50 OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS . . ; - 70 BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 5 ‘ 85 IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY ‘ . IOI THE TAI MING T’A, OR THE PAGODA OF THE GREAT NAME . ‘ ‘ ‘ * 116 MAY-DAY AT THE FAIR ; 2 ; - 133 ALONG THE OLD RIVER TO CHIEN CH’ANG YING I51r WESTWARD HO TO HATA . j . 169 THE CITY OF THE CARNATION-PEAKED HILL . 185 INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY . . . 200 IN THE REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER . 216 vii viii CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XV. ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI. ; 234 XVI. LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES ; . 249 XVII. WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET. : ‘ 268 XVII. THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU KOU ‘ . 282 XIX. WITH THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CH’! . 302 XX. TO CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS . 319 XXI. BACK TO CIVILISATION . : i ‘ 333 XXII. CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS AND GENERAL PROS- PECTS : : ; ‘ : . 348 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS POTALA MIAO, JEHOL (FACSIMILE OF THAT AT LHASA) (Photo by a Chinese Photographer) Frontispiece FACING PAGE TEMPLE TO GOD OF AGRICULTURE, YUNG PING FU . WEST GATE OF CITY, YUNG PING FU . ANCIENT BUDDHIST MONUMENTS AT YUNG PING FU. CITY WALL (S.E.) IN DISTANCE : : ‘ GREAT WALL AT LIU CHIA K’OU, NEAR YUNG P’ING FU GREAT WALL AT LIU CHIA K’OU (ANOTHER VIEW) : THE AUTHOR IN TRAVELLING GARB WITH OLD HANSL LIEUT. CHIANG YI SHAN AND SOLDIERS AT TA CHANG TZU IMPERIAL PALACE AT JEHOL, IN WHICH THE EMPEROR HSIEN FENG DIED IN 1861 ‘ : ‘ (Photo by a Chinese Photographer) LO HAN TEMPLE AT JEHOL : : ‘ HAMLET ON LAN RIVER. . . COLPORTEUR CH’EN HO Ts’AI (IN LONG GARMENT) SELLING SCRIPTURES. ‘ s é ; ‘ 2 5 17 18 20 22 45 47 49 50 x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE PASSING THROUGH THE GREAT WALL AT LIU CHIA K’0U 68 SECTION OF GREAT WALL IN VILLAGE OF LENG kK’ou . 88 CHINESE INN BEYOND GREAT WALL, CHANG CHIA TIEN . 94 PACK-MULES ASCENDING THE PA CHA CHIH LING . 96 TEMPLE TO GOD OF WAR, T’A TZU KOU ; : 103 MAHOMMEDAN MOSQUE AT T’A TZU KOU . : . 104 MEMORIAL ARCH IN SHANSI GUILD COMPOUND AT T’A TZU KOU ‘ : ‘i , A ; 106 CHINESE CHRISTIANS AT T’A TZU KOU . ‘ . II0 BATH-HOUSES AT JE SHUI T’ANG (MARISAMI AND YUAN MIN STANDING UP) z : : ; : 113 THE T’AI MING T’A, OR FAMOUS PAGODA . ‘ . 128 LAMAS (VEILED) AND WORSHIPPERS AT THE FAMOUS PAGODA. ; ‘ : ‘ . 134 CURIOUS MONGOL WOMEN AT THE FAMOUS PAGODA . 136 SCENE ON FAIR-GROUND AT T’AI MING CH’ENG, SHOWING THEATRE-STAGE.. ‘ ‘ : é 146 MARISAMI HAVING HIS HEAD SHAVED AT K’U LU KOU. 148 INN-YARD AT MEI LI HO, NEAR HATA . ; “ 165 CARAVAN APPROACHING CH’IEN CH’ANG YING ON THE LAO HO . e 3 . F . 166 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi FACING PAGE TRAVELLING HUCKSTER, NEAR HATA . , F 173 MR. LI PING HO, CHIEF MAGISTRATE AT HATA, WITH BODYGUARD. s j ‘ . 181 MESSRS. MORLEY AND DORE STARTING FROM HATA . 185 STREET SCENE IN HATA. j : ; . 187 STREET SCENE AT HATA (THE LONG SIGNBOARD DENOTES A MEDICINE SHOP) . : : : i 189 SECOND AND THIRD BROTHERS OF PRINCE OF WENG NIU TE, HATA F ‘ : : ‘ . 190 LAMA ABBOT OF WENG NIU T’E, HATA. ‘ : 195 SON AND HEIR OF PRINCE OF WENG NIU T’E, HATA - 196 STREET SCENE IN HATA (TIMBERS PILED UP ARE TO MAKE AXLE-TREES FOR CARTS) . : : 198 HEAD STEWARD OF MONGOLIAN PRINCE WITH IMPERIAL CART. ‘ ‘ : : : . 204 OUR CARAVAN CROSSING THE SAND-DESERTS TO YI MA CHAN MIAO (see p. 253) . ‘ ‘ ; 231 MONGOL HUT AT YU TIEN KAO. ; : . 231 PAO LAO YEH AT HSIAO HSIANG SHUI . : . 240 MONGOL MOVING HIS TENT IN THE PLAINS, ON WAY TO K’U LU KOU. ‘ : ‘ ; » 291 LAMA TEMPLE, Kf KE MIAO. : j : 296 xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE MONGOL WIDOW WITH SHAVEN HEAD, 82 YEARS OLD, AND ONE OF OUR GUIDES. ‘ ; . 296 TIBETAN LAMA—PRINCE OF K’U LU KOU ‘ . 310 LAMA TEMPLE AT K’U LU KOU, FRONT HALL (EXTERIOR) 314 BUDDHIST IDOLS IN LAMA TEMPLE AT K’U LU KOU . 316 INTERIOR OF PRINCIPAL HALL IN LAMA TEMPLE AT K’U LU KOU, SHOWING PRINCE’S THRONE, SAID TO BE BUILT OVER THE CAVE WHICH SHELTERED THE FEROCIOUS ANIMAL OVER 250 YEARS AGO. . 318 PAGODA AND CART-AXLE TIMBERS AT CH’AO YANG FU 333 PAGODA AT CH’AO YANG FU (TAKEN WITHIN THE CITY). 334 Tramps in Dark Mongolia CHAPTER I THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE NESTLING amid the high hills that girdle the north- eastern border of China is a quaint, old-fashioned city rejoicing in the melodious name which stands at the head of this chapter, but which is known locally as Yung P’ing Fu. How long that city has been in existence no living mortal can tell with certainty. The ancient records of the city and district take you back at least three thousand years ; and though in the course of the centuries her name has changed several times, and possibly enough the site has not been permanent, yet all through the city has persisted and attained a celebrity throughout China that is the envy of many much larger and more prosperous cities to-day. The primary reason for this distinction is that Yung P’ing Fu marks the ancient capital of the little “Ku Chu Kuoa,” or the Lonely Bamboo Kingdom, which flourished in the days of the Shang dynasty, i.e, from 1766 to 1401 B.C. Here in that dim past lived and reigned a minor king, who, when advancing age was making him unfit for his royal duties, determined to abdicate in favour of one of his two sons. The elder of these was named Po Yi, the younger Shu Ch’i, and, contrary 2 I 2 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA both to usage and experience, in abdicating, the king named as his successor the younger of the two lads, as being the more competent statesman, and likely to govern the little kingdom most successfully. But Shu Ch’i had been brought up in a school where filial piety and fraternal regard were the principal items in a boy’s education, and had learned his lessons so well that he revolted at the suggestion to promote him over the head of his brother. Rather than accept the throne offered to him he fled from the court and went into voluntary exile. He hoped, of course, by this unsel- fish act to make his brother’s advance to the throne an easy matter. But Po Yi, the elder brother, was not to be outdone by his younger brother, and con- cluding that his father considered him unfit to govern well the little kingdom, he too fled from the court and followed Shu Ch’i into exile. The two brothers, thus one in their self-forgetful qualities, were companions in exile for the remainder of their lives, and the kingdom eventually fell to the son of Po Yi, the elder of the king’s two sons. Five hundred years before the Christian era began the immortal sage K’ung Fu Tzu, or Confucius, as we call him in the West, rescued this incident from the oblivion to which it had been consigned, and held up the two men as examples of the unselfishness and fraternal regard of the ancients, stamped their action with his approval, and so immortalised the two brothers, who little thought that wheresoever the Chinese Classics should be read in future years “this should be told for a memorial of them.” Hence our old city of Yung P’ing Fu, quiet, sleepy, modest as she is, occupies in the mind of the Chinese scholar to-day a position of honour and esteem that is held by comparatively few of her many great cities, pe oT ee. ee “Ad ONT d ONDA ‘ANILTADINOVY AO GOD OL ATA NAL THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE 3 The casual visitor, ignorant of her history, would see but little to interest him in her rough, uneven streets : the large open spaces within the walls might tempt him to call upon the people to lock the door lest the city should run out: and he would probably turn away with the feeling that he had been for ten minutes or so plunged into an ancient sleepy hollow, where business drags a weary length along and the hurry and bustle of modern life has not yet found its way. Not so, however, the dwellers within its walls, or the foreign resident from a far country. To these the old city possesses many charms, and the historic imagina- tion sees in Yung P’ing Fu the centre of at least one worthy episode of the past, and remembers that long before many famous cities of the West had sprung into being, she was the capital of a kingdom and the scene of daring deeds. Yet Yung P’ing Fu as she is to-day suggests little either of the activity or glory of the past. Her ordinary excitements come once every fifth day, when her markets are held; her extraordinary gather round the festivities of the Chinese New Year, and the annual fair in the fifth month. Every fifth day the city wakes up for a few hours, and the streets are thronged with villagers from the surrounding district, intent upon the buying and selling of their produce at the markets. Outside the east gate is the cattle mart, and there you may, as occasion serves, purchase a pony or a pig, a cow or a calf. Inside the wall’ on the east street you will come upon the “ts’ai huo chan,” or fuel mart, where the woodmen from the hills around deposit their heavy loads of trees and twigs, split and chopped and made up into bundles, while some humble farmer sells the long stalks that come from the “kao-liang” (tall millet) fields, or, humbler still, 4 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA offers the rough grass that has been scraped up from the sides of the hills with the bamboo rake. Further along, you come upon the vegetable stalls and the butchers’ stands, and on the latter you will mostly see luscious and sweet-tasting pork, for if the Chinese of the north has any partiality for flesh meat, it is for the flesh of the dusky scavenger of China, the humble pig. Turn to the left along the north street, passing the street restaurants and sniffing at the appetising odours as you go, and you find yourself among the sellers of cloth and calico and the many articles that constitute the simple stock-in-trade of the Chinese hosier. Yet in some of those modest-looking shops, where nothing is displayed save a smouldering taper at which you may light your pipe, or an inviting teapot from which you are welcome to quench your thirst, you may purchase silks and satins from the far-famed looms of beautiful Hangchou and Soochou. These, however, will only be shown you on request, the Chinese store- keeper wisely preserving the goods he has to sell by keeping them covered up away from dust and sun. Should you turn to the right hand on the same street, you would stumble over a few grimy-looking tinkers and peripatetic cobblers who beguile their numerous customers with merry joke and jest, and in at least one case that we wot of will embrace the opportunity, while a pipe is being mended, of preaching in quaint and original fashion the truths of the Christian gospel. Such are a few of the sights of the market day, when from early morn till four or five in the afternoon the streets are crowded with men and boys, mostly all dressed in blue, all wearing the pigtail, and all talking that mysterious and yet mellifluous language that is the possession of the Chinese Empire. The city itself lies almost four-square, surrounded by a au wy FU. ST GATE OF CITY, YUNG PING = WH To face p. 5, THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE 5 well-built wall in splendid condition, though it has already tested and resisted the winds and storms of over five hundred years. The wall makes a circuit of 9 li and 18 paces—that is, about three English miles — and from its broad walks the best view of the city is to be obtained. The city itself boasts of being built on three hills, and the wall in one part follows the course of the hill on which the old examination hall stands. With this exception, where the wall has a slope of some 45 degrees, it is level and broad enough to admit of a couple of carts being driven abreast, and, contrary to common usage in China, is much patronised in the cool of the summer evenings, when some of the inhabitants take gentle exercise on the top. Usually in most cities and towns the Chinese resent the use of the city wall as a promenade. They dislike being over- looked in their homes and compounds, and in at least one case within my knowledge, where the yamen, or official residence, of the magistrate abuts on the wall, barriers are erected by His Honour, and any venture- some individual who dared to take exercise there would soon find himself kneeling in court awaiting punishment. Not so at Yung P’ing Fu, however, where the wall is commonly used in this way, and the people are seem- ingly indifferent to the fact of being overlooked from above. Let us take a stroll there now, and note the special objects of interest in the city. Mounting at the east gate, and turning northwards for our stroll, we note first the old examination hall already mentioned, and now transformed by the exigencies! of modern innovations into a normal school for teachers. It stands in a large and commodious compound on the highest of the city’s three hills. It has immense covered halls on east and west, in which the budding literati of the prefecture were 6 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA accustomed to sit for examination. At the north end of the compound are two rows of well-built rooms, which formed the temporary residence of the Literary Chancel- lor on his bi-annual visits to the city. All is, of course, in the utilitarian rather than the ornate style of architec- ture, for the place was built for use, and for several hundred years was consecrated to the purpose of discovering by examination the promising young men of the prefecture, whose knowledge of the Confucian classics was sufficient to justify their passing forward to the stiffer tests of the metropolitan examinations, and so by gradation finding their way to literary honours and official recompense. More severely utilitarian still is the old place now that the examination system has been abrogated. The front entrance halls have been demolished, a plain gateway in foreign style has been erected in their place; the covered sheds have been turned into class-rooms and dormitories, and the place is inhabited by a score or more of the younger race of school teachers, anxious to ft themselves in some little measure for the new demands of the new teaching. You will observe that the east gate, to the top of which we have now climbed, is destitute of its tower, while just there the wall bears signs of recent repairs. That is a relic of the dark days of 1900. For once in its long history Yung P’ing Fu belied its gracious name by a venom and vindictiveness that spelt ruin and death to scores of Christian people, both of the Roman Catholic and Protestant faiths. Russian troops found their way there in September of the same year, and administered severe, and in some cases unmerited, punishment. It is not necessary at this date to speak in detail of their conduct towards the inhabitants of the city and district. Let it be enough to say that it can scarcely be described as Christian, and that when, some two months later, the —— ~ ail cosh : ‘ - “ Siena ANCIENT BUDDHIST MONUMENTS AT YUNG PING FU. City wall (S.E.) in distance. To lace p. 7- THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE 7 writer and a missionary colleague first visited the city, almost every woman and girl fled in terror on learning that two of the dreaded foreigners were approaching. On the occasion of this Russian visit the Prefect, a Manchu of the olden type, was asked if he possessed any armaments in the city. His answer was in the negative, but unfortunately for him and the city the visitors looked for themselves, and in the wall tower over the east gate found a number of ancient useless cannon and two or three pieces of modern artillery. The punishment was swift and exemplary. Without any delay the old Prefect was beaten five hundred blows in the street, and the “ Hsien,” or county magistrate, received two hundred. The tower in which the guns were found was blown to smithereens, while the Hsien official was forced with his own hand to set fire to the central city tower, which to this day remains in its ruins, a silent but reproving reminder of the visit of the wild Cossacks from the north. Passing along the eastern arm of the city wall, you will next observe an ancient look-out tower, from which in former days men watched for the beacon lights that flashed messages between cities and provinces. That is the highest point of the wall, and is fully 200 feet above the level of the road that was once the main channel of communication between the Chinese and Manchu capitals. Little temples, quaint and varied, dot the wall here and there, the most picturesque being perhaps the Kuei Hsing Lou, or temple to the God of Literature, built on the south wall and directly facing the examina- tion hall. This is an open shrine of octagonal shape, the figure poised on one leg and with one arm threaten- ingly raised looking more like an ancient prophet come to judgment than a patron of the quiet, dignified men who aspire to walk in the ways of Confucius. 8 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Mention of that name leads us to remark that the city contains two fine temples erected in honour of the great sage. This is due to the fact of its being a prefectural city, having authority not only over the county governed from the city itself, and known officially as Lu Lung Hsien, but also over six other cities covering an area of several hundred square miles. So important a frontier town as Shan Hai Kuan (called “T’ien Hsia ti yich’eng,” or the First City under Heaven) is under the rule of the head civil official of Yung P’ing Fu, while the busy and important cities of Ch’ang Li and Lanchou, and the bustling town of Tongshan, all standing on the Imperial Railway between Peking and Mukden, the latter being the centre of the great locomotive works and coal mines, are subject to his order. In consequence of its prefectural dignity, Yung P’ing boasts two Confucian temples, the larger one set in the midst of stately firs, and the ancient rendezvous of scholars and officials in the days of examinations. In most, if not indeed in all, Confucian temples there is a quietude and order that somehow commends itself to the foreign visitor, and all the more welcome because rarely found in the Buddhist and Taoist fanes. For one thing, there are no ignorant and superstitious bonzes to tell you weird stories of the gods they profess to serve, and gull the people into worshipping ; nor to pester you with pleas for gifts of money, of which every foreigner is popularly supposed to have an abundant supply. Neither are there any images of wood, iron, or stone, often of revolting countenance and in dilapidated condition. There are simply the tablets of the great men of the golden age that is gone, that of the Master Confucius standing in the centre, Mencius on his left, and those of his seventy-two faithful disciples erected round the great hall in order of merit and popular appreciation. THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE 9 It may perhaps not be quite orthodox in a missionary to declare it, but it is quite true that to the man of reverent and worshipful spirit there is nothing to offend the sight in a Confucian temple. There may be dust and dirt, but there is also quietness and dignity, a sense of the greatness of human life and the permanence of human character. And one might commune with his spirit and be still, and pass upward to the higher com- munion with the Father of all men, as surely in a Confucian temple of China as in the noble pile of St. Paul’s in London or the marble poem of stately Milan. In these temples twice a month the officials go to pay homage to the great sage, recently deified as the Most Holy, and save on these fortnightly and somewhat per- functory observances, the temples are left severely alone, things to be admired and wondered at, but not used too frequently or familiarly. The Middle School now stands appropriately enough within close proximity to the prefectural temple of Confucius. This is an old literary hall adapted to the requirements of the new education, where some eighty young men, selected from the various cities in the prefecture, receive their initiation into the mysteries of English, arithmetic, and geography, from there being drafted into the universities established now both at Pao Ting Fu and Tientsin. From the wall also may be distinctly seen both the prefectural and county yamens, while here and there are the headquarters of sundry petty officials always to be found in Chinese cities. The former yamen is a fairly good specimen of official residences, but that of the county magistrate is mean and commonplace in the extreme. A speciality in its compound, however, is an old “huai shu” (locust-tree) which illustrates the Chinese cult of tree worship. Bannerettes and scrolls, in more 10 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA or less faded and ragged condition, wave from its branches and are fastened to its trunk. That some are of recent date prove that superstition dies hard, and that even yet there are not wanting people who find a god they can worship in a tree of hoary age, round which has gathered a series of traditions and wonder- workings. I have never been able to get a clear reason for the worship of this particular tree, but its nearness to the common prison would suggest that its beneficent powers are exercised on behalf of the unhappy mortals who find themselves on the wrong side of the door. One special feature of the city is the method adopted to prevent floods within the city. Standing in an amphi- theatre of hills, Yung P’ing Fu on its western and southern sides is bounded by two rivers, the Lan Ho and the Ch’ing Lung Ho. In times of heavy rains these rivers have been known to overflow their banks and inundate the surrounding country, and on occasion have flooded the land right up to the wall of the city. The Mission with which the writer is associated some sixteen years ago lost its little place of worship outside the south gate through such a flood, and the people live every year in dread of a foe they have no means of beating back. Each of the city gates, therefore, has been built not only with heavy massive outer doors with iron facings, but has in addition a semicircular space leading to a second door equally strong. Further, on the top of the wall at each gate is kept a stock of heavy timbers, which in time of flood are let down within the second door into apertures or grooves specially prepared, so proving not only an effectual guard against water, but in the ancient days offering a stout resistance to any opposing force that might demonstrate against the city. The last time they were so used was in the summer of 1902, when the THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE 11 brigands from without the wall came near and threatened an attack upon the city. Mention of the two rivers flowing past Yung P’ing Fu leads me to speak of them more fully. The larger of the two, the Lan Ho, rises in the distant plains of Mongolia over 400 miles north-west, and flows down through some of the grandest and wildest mountain scenery that North China can show. The Ch’ing Lung (Bright Dragon) River has its source in the hills some 80 miles north of the Great Wall, through which it passes at T’ao Lin K’ou (Peach Grove Pass), and is navigable by boats for only a comparatively short distance beyond the city. Joining with the Lan River at Yung P’ing Fu, they form a wide and swiftly running stream that empties itself into the Gulf of Pechihli, 50 miles further down. The scenery from Yung P’ing Fu to Lanchou, a short distance of 12 miles, is of the most pleasing description, and few more enjoyable trips can be made over such a short distance. Sheltered amid the hills is the little village of Ts’ai Chia Fen, so named from the presence of the graveyard of the Ts’ai family, for such is the translation of the local name. This is a beautiful old cemetery dating back some three hundred years, terraced in white marble and crowned with a massive white memorial arch which leads to the burying-ground proper. Surmounting the graveyard is a beautiful fir- clad hill: the graves are kept in excellent repair, and the place has been aptly described as bearing more resemb- lance to the pastoral beauty of England than anything else to be seen in this part of China. The Ts’ai family, in olden times, was a clan of more than local importance, the founder of the family being high in Imperial favour in the days of the Ming dynasty. When the present Manchu rulers overthrew the last Ming emperor and 12 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA seated themselves on the dragon throne, Ts’ai Ta Jen transferred his allegiance to the conquerors, and is, when he is thought of at all, held in execration by all true Chinese patriots. Compensation, however, is found in the fact that the Manchu records speak of him in terms of highest praise. Yet his clan has fallen on evil times. There are now no official representatives of what was once a great family, nor have there been for many long years. Nothing remains of their ancient grandeur save the lovely cemetery among the hills and a few insignifi- cant villagers bearing the old name. Further down the river stands the kingfisher’s altar, or, to give it its Chinese name, “ Tiao Yui T’ai,” a massive column of limestone standing clear away from the face of the hill some 70 or 80 feet high, and the home of multitudes of wild pigeons and waterfowl. Lower down still is the K’u Lung Shan (Cavern Hill), a mighty hill riddled with caves and holes of all sizes and shapes. Perched on the side of this hill is a dilapidated temple, which in native tradition has a gruesome interest attached to it because of a tragedy of the common kind, one man hurling the dead body of his murdered enemy over the cliff into the stream below, whence it was carried to sea by the swift current. The “Lung Wang Miao,” or Dragon King Temple, stands yet nearer to the Imperial railway station at Lanchou. It is a temple of tasteful design though comparatively small and inexpensive. It was built originally to please an ancient emperor. It stands on the hill surmounting the river, and since the main road to Yung P’ing Fu winds round the side of the hill, the temple has its principal room built over the road, a miniature tunnel passing underneath its piazza. So pleased was the old emperor when he saw it, hill behind, THE CITY OF ETERNAL PEACE 13 river before, and people passing beneath his feet as he sat on the verandah above the tunnel, that he at once conferred high dignity on the lucky official who had built it. And there it stands to-day, adding to the beauty of the landscape, if serving no other useful purpose. But the most conspicuous building on the Lan Ho lies 7 miles west of the city. This is the “Yi Ch’i Miao,” or the temple of Po Yi and Shu Ch'i, already named in this chapter. This is a very fine specimen of Chinese architecture, erected to commemorate the virtues of the two famous brothers, and honoured above most in that on two separare occasions it was visited by the Emperor Ch’ien Lung (A.D. 1736-1796). He has left a memento of his visits in a stone tablet bearing some of his own handwriting extolling the conduct of the heroes of Yung P’ing Fu, or more correctly speaking, the heroes of the Lonely Bamboo Kingdom. The temple stands at the foot of a group of picturesque hills, while the Lan River winds underneath the large wall that encircles the buildings, making the situation one of great charm. There are no priests resident in this temple, and while on occasion the officials will visit in state to worship at the dual shrine, the temple is principally useful in that it provides quarters for a small company of soldiers set to keep the peace of the neighbourhood. In the city itself, just facing the street chapel of the United Methodist Mission, is a memorial arch erected to the honour of the two brothers, while a little further along the same street is an insignificant temple built with similar intent. Yung P’ing Fu has historic interests of another kind connected with the overthrow of the Ming dynasty and the establishment of the present Manchu rule. Standing on what was once the main road between 14 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Peking and Mukden, here in 1644 was fought one of the fierce battles that helped to place the Manchus in possession of China. General Wu San Kuei, then commandant at Shan Hai Kuan, had asked the aid of the Manchu soldiers to rid the country of the rebel Li Tse Ch’eng, little dreaming that once beyond the pass they would not be easily persuaded to go back. The allies met the rebel forces on the banks of the river at Yung P’ing Fu, and Li Tse Ch’eng suffered a terrible defeat. Then came the first Manchu emperor, Shun Chih, through the city, sleeping one night in some inn outside the south gate. But when he passed he left behind him some of his supporters, and Yung P’ing Fu to-day has some one hundred families of Manchus living within its walls, descendants of the wild men who followed their prince and shared his fortunes in 1644. Much of the ancient glory has departed from our city. The coming of the iron horse, passing through Lanchou and Ch’ang Li, and leaving the prefectural city 12 miles away to the north among the hills, has robbed her of much of her official prestige and business. But nothing can rob her of the records of her past, and many of her quiet old scholars still think proudly of their city as she was thought of in the days of her prime, and at least one Western “ barbarian” has allowed some of her old-world charm to steal into his heart, and make reflection upon his association with her a matter of constant pleasure. CHAPTER II THROUGH THE GREAT WALL UNDOUBTEDLY one of the principal attractions about life at Yung P’ing Fu is its nearness to the world’s greatest wonder, the Great Wall of China. Just 20 miles north of the city this ancient structure winds its sinuous way across the mountains and down into the valleys, and on any ordinarily clear day can be distinctly seen with the naked eye from the Mission compound and the city wall. So much has been written about the Great Wall that-a comparatively slight description of it may suffice here. Dr. Johnson once said that the man whose grand- father had looked upon the Great Wall of China ought to be knighted. If that principle be adopted great honours are reserved for my posterity, since it has been my privilege to live within daily sight of it for six years, and time and again to climb it at different points, secur- ing several good photographs of it, some of which are here reproduced. Let a few historical facts be briefly recalled. The Great Wall of China was begun in the year 214 B.c., under the emperor who first reigned over united China as Chin Shih Huang Ti. This emperor is also celebrated from the fact of his bitter quarrels with the literati of his day and his dastardly attempt to burn all the Confucian classics in existence in the Empire. For centuries the 15 16 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA wild and untamed hordes of Manchuria and Mongolia had harassed the northern borders, and when Chin Shih Huang Ti, having conquered all who opposed him within what is now China proper, assumed the Imperial crown, he decided on building a rampart at once so strong and so extensive that it would keep in check his northern enemies. Hence arose the Great Wall, starting out of the sea at Shan Hai Kuan, and climbing over the high hills all the long and weary way to Kansuh province, a distance of at least 1,500 English miles. The Chinese name for it is “Wan Li Ch’ang Ch’eng’”— that is, “Ten thousand li long city, or rampart.” (A “11” is a Chinese mile, three of which make an English mile.) The average height is 22 feet, though there are places where, following the contours of the hills, it runs up much higher. It is, generally speaking, some 20 feet wide, though here again it broadens or narrows in places where the hills are more or less accessible. At an average distance of 100 yards on the highest hills there are towers from 40 to 60 feet high, with several separate compart- ments, in all of which are numerous loopholes through which the arrows of the troops might be aimed. At some of the passes where risk of assault was greater, these towers are built much closer together. The entire wall in its eastern section is built of massive stone and large bricks ; that in the west is said to dwindle away till in distant Kansuh it becomes nothing more than a huge mud-bank. The popular view-points for the globe-trotter are Shan Hai Kuan and the Nankou Pass, both now easily reached by train from Tientsin and Peking, and which annually attract an ever-increasing number of visitors from Western lands. In the months immediately following the Boxer rising it was no uncommon thing for passengers to land at Shan Hai Kuan in the evening train from Peking, ‘Ad ONId ONNA UVAN ‘N0,M VIHO AIT LV TIVM Lvadd THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 17 seek out the British military officer in command at the railway station, when something like the following dialogue would ensue :— Visitor : “Can you kindly inform me from what point I can most conveniently see the Great Wall ?” Officer (possessed of a strong sense of humour): “Certainly ; please step this way.” Then leading the traveller to the western end of the station platform, Captain K—— would point out the wall on the hills a mile or two away beyond the city, to be invariably met with a remark like this, “Oh, thank you very much. Now what time can I get a train back to Tientsin ?” But the dweller in an inland Chinese city is not satised with the mere cursory glance that seems sufficient for those restless people who hurry to and fro on the earth, “doing” the principal cities in the shortest possible time, and imagining they are at once enjoying and educating themselves. Hence we think nothing of the 20 miles ride on a pony, or even a rocky drag over rough roads in a Chinese cart, which brings us to the ancient rampart. Liu Chia K’ou (the Liu Family Pass) with its magnificent tower still stand- ing; T’ao Lin K’ou (Peach Grove Pass), where the Ch’ing Lung Ho (Bright Dragon River) comes rippling merrily through the mountains; or Leng K’ou (Cold Pass), where the ancient tower was swept away by floods in 1850, are all within equal distance from Yung P’ing Fu, and can be quite easily and comfortably reached in one day. It was at the foremost of these three that I first made acquaintance with the wall. It is difficult to analyse or describe one’s feelings when first the wall is seen. Silent and strong, even in its ruin it is eloquent of the greatness of the past, when might was right, and the 3 18 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA honours went not to the most worthy but to the most fierce and warlike. The very conception of the scheme is oppressive, to say nothing of its execution. To think that any one man, in those long-ago days, could concoct such a plan for the protection of his country, that in itself baffles you. But to think again that the scheme was actually carried out, that for ten years the ponderous army, assisted by the forced labour of the dwellers near the wall, should toil to make the scheme a reality, that is simply staggering, and dull indeed must be the brain that does not sensibly quicken at its first sight of the stupendous work. Here upon these high and rugged hills the masons plied mallet and trowel for ten long weary years. Deep down into the valleys like an endless serpent the stately rampart crept, every now and again uprearing its proud head as one of these massive towers sprang into being. Perched on the topmost summits, crawling almost perpendicularly up the sides of the cliffs, dipping down where the tiny streamlets trickled and the big rivers rushed, Chin Shih Huang Ti pushed on his mighty enterprise, and even to-day, useless ruin though it be, it is majestic, wonderful, grand. It is an easy thing to sneer at the prodigious waste of capital and labour involved in the building of the wall.. And could these old bricks speak, they could doubtless tell many a sinister story of agony and cruelty and wrong endured by the hapless toilers of more than two thousand years ago. Yet when it is remembered that the wall was built when the archer was the back- bone of the armies; that then there were neither howitzers to belch forth terror nor Maxims to spit out their fiery message of death, it can easily be understood how real the obstacle would be to any body of men who made assault through the narrow passes leading "gr ‘d a0vj OL (AMALA MAHLONY) QOM VIHO AIT LY TIVM LVAD THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 19 from the north. Such assailants would offer the easiest of targets to the watchers in the towers, and be picked off one by one as they stole down the little paths. And it is interesting to remember that the Manchu victory of 1644 was only made possible through the action of Wu San Kuei, the Chinese general in command at Shan Hai Kuan (see Chapter I.), who invited the Manchus in, ostensibly to pacify the country, really, as the event proved, to occupy the Dragon Throne. But for this action of the famous warrior it is doubtful whether even the hardy Manchus of that day could have got within the barrier and conquered China for themselves. Later, when the infamous rebel, Li Tse Ch’eng, had been finally defeated and his forces scattered, Wu San Kuei was anxious to see his Manchu allies retire to their ancestral territory. But that did not suit their book, and the old general, who had done what he did with the highest motives, found he had played practically the part of Warwick the king-maker to the Manchus. He could but bow to the inevitable, until in 1679 he ended his days in rebellion to K’ang Hsi. On my first visit to Liu Chia K’ou in 1903, climbing over the ruined wall, I came upon a fallen stone tablet lying among the broken bricks and covered over with a season’s growth of weeds. This tablet stated that the wall at that point had been repaired by the two villages of Liu Chia K’ou in the 28th year of Wan Li, one of the last and least worthy of the emperors of the Ming dynasty. That was in 1601, when Queen Eliza- beth was the ruler of England, and since that time there is no record of any attempt being made to keep the wall in repair. Of course, with the establishment of the Manchu dynasty in China the raison d’étre of the Great Wall ceased, with. the result that everywhere now the ancient structure has been allowed to fall into a deplor- 20 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA able condition of ruin and confusion. Yet at Liu Chia K’ou, as at other points I have visited, there remain signs of the greatness of the task in the basement stones of the great towers, where I have measured dressed stones 14 feet long and 3 to 4 feet deep. It was through the pass of Leng K’ou, however, that I took my first Mongolian trip in the late autumn of 1904. Up till that time the organisation of a new mission station, with the erection of necessary buildings, had made a trip beyond the wall impossible. But all things come to him who waits, and after many a longing look at the wall and what lay beyond, the time came when my longing was satisfied. Accompanied by an agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society, Mr. R. J. Gould, I planned a trip which was to take us along some of the main roads of Inner Mongolia, and lead us to such important centres as T’a Tzu Kou, Pakou, and Jehol. With two Chinese carts laden with copies of the Scriptures, our camp beds and bedding, a food box and cooking utensils, we had a fairly heavy load to carry. We were in all a party of eight, including besides our- selves, two colporteurs, three carters, and a servant. I was mounted on my own well-tried Mongolian pony Hansl, who has carried me on his back many hundreds of miles during the past seven years, while my friend rode a hired animal, with such a remarkable gait that we christened him “Lumpy.” He was an antique specimen of his class, covered with points, some of them so good that you might have hung your hat on them. But he stood the rough journey very well, and there was genuine regret on the part of his rider when the time came for them to part. Apart from our stores and books we carried nothing save three cameras. No firearms, and no escort. And ‘oz ‘d avy oF “ISNVH G10 HLIA dXVO ONITIAAVUL NI YOHLAV THL THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 21 though the district is proverbial for lawlessness, we were never in any position where either firearms or escort would have been of value. Books being the only articles exempt from duty at the customs barriers, we were untroubled by the customs officers there, though I afterwards found that our carters had secreted a quantity of string under our boxes, which they carried through to dispose of outside the wall. Leng K’ou is the only pass for some miles round where vehicles can travel. And a regular stream of carts and barrows, besides pack-animals and villagers themselves carrying burdens, may be seen there every day, increased tenfold when the day happens to be market day at Chien Ch’eng Ying. The tower, washed away in 1850, has been replaced by a line of inverted staves across the stream, but a specially fine sample of the difficult work undertaken 2,200 years ago remains in the section of the wall that climbs up the side of the hill on the east for about 200 feet, making you wonder not merely how they managed to build there, but still more how the workmen managed to maintain their footing at all. We watched with great interest for some time the slow progress of a youngster about fifteen years of age, crawl- ing up the wall intent upon gathering fuel among the fir-trees that clothe the hill. There is a fairly large and prosperous village at Leng K’ou, where the people are sublimely indifferent to the fact that they live beneath the shadow of the world’s most stupendous piece of masonry. They depend for their livelihood on the cultivation of the splendid land that lies at the southern base of the hills, yet in the wintertime spend their days in wandering round the district gathering manure for their fields or fuel for their fires. The character of the scenery changes immediately 22 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA you get beyond the pass. In place of the brown and barren hillsides the north side of the wall is thickly studded with trees. These are principally firs and willows, though further on we found very fine poplars, and later still a species of small oak-tree. Quite near the wall also a species of coarse brown rice is annually grown, the villagers making use of the little swiftly flowing stream called the Sha Ho (Sand River) to cultivate their small paddy-plots. Bearing slightly north-east, the road led us through a village called Hsiao Ying Tzu (Small Camp), where the natural feet and ruddy complexions of the women proclaimed that this was a Manchu settlement. Thence we passed to Ta Hu Tien (Great Tiger Inn) and found comfortable quarters in an excellent inn at the foot of a lofty hill. The valley through which we had come was from 400 to 600 yards wide, high hills closing in on either side, and all very finely wooded. From Ta Hu Tien next morning we went forward to Ta Chang Tzu (Great Barracks) and got accommodation for lunch in a large inn where a company of soldiers belonging to the Yung P’ing Fu forces was stationed. The lieutenant in charge no sooner heard of our arrival than he invited us to use his rooms while in the inn, and we spent a couple of pleasant hours in his genial com- pany. The soldiers were there to keep in check the brigands who flourish in those quarters, and only that morning one of the desperadoes had been sent into the nearest “Hsien” city, where summary trial and decapita- tion awaited him. The soldiers were strong, sturdy fellows enough, but one had doubts as to their real value in a place like that, in the event of genuine fighting being necessary. From Ta Chang Tzu, over a fairly good road, we made our way to T’u Shih Men (Earth Stone Gate), where we LIEUT. CHIANG YI SHAN AND SOLDIERS AT TA CHANG TZU. To face p, 22, THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 23 met the first of the many “ling,” or passes, we were to cross. Two narrow defiles, not more than 8 feet wide, led us from T’u Shih Men to Ta Shih Men (Great Stone Gate) and introduced us to a narrow valley, at that time of surpassing loveliness. At the further end was a cone-shaped hill, a little brook trickled through the bottom of the valley, while on both sides the gently sloping hills were clad with firs and poplars and willows, and the autumn colouring was perfection. Yet the dwellers in that valley were in no sense impressed as we were with the beauty of their environment. A cheery remark on the splendour of their little valley met with no more sympathetic response than “Chiu shih ko shan-kou-tzu ti ti-fang’” (What is it but a place of hills and valleys ?). The road from here onward proved to be a most wearisome and rough path. We had hoped to cut across the hills to a busy market town named T’ang Tao Ho (The River of Fording Roads), but such paths as there were were suitable only for pack-animals, and we had to make an unexpected circuit of 7 miles in the latter part of the day. We forded a small river three times en route, turned off at right angles to Ch’e Ch’ang Kou (Cart Green Valley), and long before we reached the inn we sought, darkness, which comes quickly in those hilly regions, had fallen, and we had to stumble along over one of the worst roads we had met, groping our way as best we could. Boulders of no small size lay in the way, hurled down by the heavy rains of the summer, and we were all thoroughly jaded when we crawled into the yard of the wretched inn that stood at the head of the valley. It was cold comfort then to be told by the innkeeper that if we had only come a month later they would have had the road repaired. 24 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Disappointed in our attempt to reach T’ang Tao Ho that night, we decided to make an early start next morn- ing. There were three “ling” to be crossed, so that meant hard work. But we all overslept ourselves, due to the fact that the inn did not possess a decent rooster to call us up, and we did not get away from the inn till 7 am. And then our troubles began again. Straight out of the inn-yard we met the first pass, which led us spirally up over goo feet. At one point we with our ponies were immediately over the carts travelling more slowly behind. The descent on the other side was fully a mile long, and so high are the hills just there that though the sun was up before we left the inn, we had been going an hour before it touched us, and then only through a gap in the range. Forward we pushed through a wider valley leading east, and then again turned abruptly north and made for the Pa Cha Chih Ling (Eight Forked Pass). This pass lies 5 miles beyond Ch’e Ch’ang Kou, and at first is a gentle rise through an inn-yard. But it becomes more difficult as you advance, winding round and round to a height of 1,300 feet. Issuing out of the narrow defile at the summit, a scene of unusual grandeur met our view. It even moved the souls of our Chinese companions to speech, and that in itself is a tribute to its uniqueness. Before us, glistening in the bright morning sunshine, were rank upon rank of towering hills, the sandy face of those in the foreground showing up splendidly against the dark purple behind. Absolutely nothing but trees and hills were to be seen. Nota hut nor a house, not a person nor an animal in sight. We seemed to be alone on the roof. And yet we were only 1,300 feet about sea-level, and I can see the amused smile of those readers who have so often themselves climbed up the icy slopes of Switzerland, or read the THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 25 fascinating records of Indian and African mountaineers. But after all, all things, even heights of hills and moun- tains, are relative, and some of us who know nothing of Mont Blanc, and are never likely to penetrate the fastnesses of Ruwenzori or Mustagh Ata, must needs enthuse over such things as we have. And here before us was the majestic T’u Shan (Earth Mountain) which reaches a height of 8,000 feet, and boasts a temple on the summit, from which the sea near Shan Hai Kuan can be distinguished. Appropriately enough, the temple is known as “ Wang Hai Miao” (Sea View Temple). The Chinese affirm the T’u Shan to be qo li (13 miles) high, but their estimate is based not on actual measure- ment, but on the time they take to reach the summit, the winding paths round and round the mountain easily running out to that distance. At the top of this pass a pathetic instance of wasted enterprise is to be seen in the futile attempt to make an easier road across the pass. The principal in this effort was an old lady who owns the inn at the southern base of the hill, and her idea was the dual one of public benefit and private profit. But “she spent all her living,” some 50,000 strings of cash (about £1,000 sterling), and yet succeeded in doing little more than making a mere gap in the rocks. When her money was exhausted an appeal for assistance was made to the civil official at Ch’ien An Hsien, but it need scarcely be said His Honour did not see the wisdom, from his point of view, of spending money there which he could just as easily pocket. So there the gap remains, and the mules and heavy carts that pass to and fro must needs toil and be dragged up in the slow and painful fashion of their forbears. While waiting for our carts on the pass we got into conversation with a villager, who was greatly surprised 26 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA to find we could speak Chinese. On learning that we were Britons, he naively inquired “ whether England were not a barbarian’s country?” In other circumstances such an inquiry might have been received as an insult, but the man was so simple in manner, and so manifestly sincere in his question, that anger would have been quite inappropriate. We asked him how he reached such an opinion of England, when he complacently told us that years before he had worked as a coolie on railway construction, and the British overseers there could not speak Chinese at all. To his simple mind— and it really is an index to much Chinese thought of the foreigner—failure to speak Chinese was synonymous with barbarism. Unable, after all our climbing, to reach the market town we had aimed at until all the people had dispersed, we kept on going north, and spent that night in the Mongol village of Tao Erh Teng. About 10 miles south of this village we came upon the Ch’ing Lung River, and forded it no fewer than nine times as we went along that afternoon. Next morning a branch of it had to be crossed seven times more, as it flows from the hills east of the main stream. The hills here present some unique features, which are aptly hit off in the local names. Such are the Yi Lin Shan (Fish Scales Hill), Hu T’ou Shih (Tiger Head Rock), and the Chi Kung Shan (Coxcomb Hill), all of which wonderfully resemble the creatures from whom they are named. Hu T’ou Shih is a massive rock most accurately representing a tiger’s head, even to the yellow strata lines that run down the side. There prospecting for gold has been tried at various times, but so far without success. At Tao Erh Teng we came for the first time into close contact with Mongolians, staying the night in a Mongol inn. We were to see a great deal of these THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 27 primitive people on our trip, and I may as well say at once that our first impressions were of the very best. My companion, whose work in China had hitherto lain in the vicinity of the Yangtse River, was surprised, and, I think, somewhat disappointed, to find that the men dressed exactly like the Chinese, wearing the queue and the blue gown, though the women differed from the Chinese women in having natural feet, a distinctive head-dress, and a very long upper garment coming right down to the heels. He had looked for greater differences, forgetting for the moment that all tribes subject to the Manchu dynasty have to wear the pigtail. Even the Tibetans, though under a nominal suzerainty, must conform to that rule. As to the dress, these Mongols we now met were the settlers, an almost entirely different people from the nomads of the plains, where they have a distinctive dress more suitable to their rough and open life. We were in what is generally know as Inner Mongolia, a district that was formerly inhabited by Mongols only. But generations ago the Manchu rulers, seeking to provide for surplus populations in poor districts of the northern provinces, by a system euphoniously described as “chieh ti, yang min” (borrow land to support people) settled Chinese families among the Mongols, and now, in the pathetic language of an old Mongol woman with whom we talked one day, “the Mongols are less than half of the population.” For the same reason, the region bears also the name of Outer Chihli, the borders of this province being pushed further and further back, as the industrious agriculturist brings more of the land under the plough. The villages, however, in their names bear witness to their former estate, the descriptive terms “ying tzu” and “chang tzu” occurring regularly. A “ying” is a camp, a “chang” 28 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA is a tent or an awning, and thus we have in the nomenclature records of the Mongolian past. The Mongols we met seemed to us a much quieter and more friendly people than the Chinese. They were very free in conversation, even the women seeming to be pleased at any opportunity of speaking to us; so different from the average Chinese woman, who is either woefully dense or stupidly shy in the presence of strangers. One old Mongol lady whom we overtook on the road one day began at once jabbering to my friend in Mongolian, and seemed quite disappointed when she had to resort to Chinese to tell him that he and she were of one faith, though how far she was mistaken she little knew. This was an impression that most of them seemed to harbour. Lamaism, that form of the Buddhist religion which has come to them from India, they fondly imagine is pro- fessed by all the peoples of the West, and they think that every foreigner they meet, if he has not come from the original land of their faith, at least is a devotee like themselves of the great Buddha. From one young fellow with whom I one day travelled some hours I gleaned much information concerning their manners and customs, especially wherein they differ from the pure Chinese. Amongst themselves they use only their mother-tongue, and only condescend when compelled to speak in the language of what they term the usurpers. They all speak Chinese with a soft liquid accent that reminds one of Hindustani, and invariably drop their voices in a gentle cadence at the end of a sentence. The harsh, strident tones in which the average Chinese will address you I never once heard from Mongols on this trip, and that alone predisposes one in their favour. There is no inter-marrying among the two races. They dwell together, yet are as much apart as though scores of miles separated them. Marriage with THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 29 them, as with the Chinese, is a matter of arrangement. Wives are obtained by purchase, somewhat more crudely than among the Chinese, a girl being valued according to age and health, at so many pigs, so much clothing, and so many strings of cash. Polygamy, of course, is common, the mental attitude of all being, “Why shouldn’t a man have as many wives as he can afford to keep ?” To their religion the Mongols are fanatically wedded. Their temples are everywhere kept in excellent repair, and many of them are really beautiful. Lamas with shaven head and yellow or purple robe abound wherever you go, until at Jehol, in the vicinity of the temples, there seemed to be more Lamas than laymen. But that unfortunately does not mean an overplus of righteous- ness, for some of the Lamas are openly immoral, given up to opium and gambling, while lying and pilfering are regarded as but trivial faults by the majority of the people. Still we liked them, their gentle manners and obvious friendliness being a great contrast to the obtru- sive curiosity and bold impertinence of their Chinese neighbours. From the pass at Pa Cha Chih Ling, which led us through a valley about 7 miles long, right up to Hu T’ou Shih, where for the fifth time we forded the Ch’ing Lung River, the country was very bare and desolate. Trees were scarce, the hills were brown and barren, and there was but little land capable of cultivation, the road, like the curate’s egg, being good in parts only. Here and there on the hillsides were patches of reclaimed land, some of them at such a height and angle that one could only wonder how animals or plough could stand there, much less work. But the Chinese agriculturist is nothing if not persistent and adaptive, and thus many spots that in another land and with another people 30 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA would be left to stones and stubble are diligently worked by these patient sons of toil. Sleeping one night at Tao Erh Teng, where they promised us we should hear the wolves howl if we did not sleep too soundly, we next morning retraced our steps for 4 miles and turned east through a wide valley that takes its name from Fo Yeh Tung (Buddha’s Cave), a small market town some miles along. Here we came again on fertile soil, and after the desolation of the previous day it was delightful to behold long stretches of splendid soil under the plough. Late in the season though it was, the people were busy in the fields, and in many places we saw men digging up the roots of the crops already gathered to be used as fuel, followed by other men turning over the land with the plough in preparation for the spring sowing. Here no wheat is grown, but as a rule they get magnificent crops of kaoliang, short millet, and black beans. That night we slept at Kou Men Tzu (Valley Door), known also as Hsiao T’a Tzu Kou (Small Pagoda Valley), and occupied a long room where some score or more of goat-skins were drying, prior to being sold to representa- tives of Tientsin firms. Here, as at other places, we opened our boxes and sold our books, and came upon an old man who, 60 miles from the nearest mission chapel, yet had an accurate knowledge of the leading events of Old Testament history. He had bought a copy of the Old Testament many years before, and from the knowledge he had of its contents had read it more diligently than is common even among professing Christians. We rose by mistake early next morning, being out of bed by 1.30, and on the road by 2.50. Early as we were, we were not the first astir, for that day was a lucky day in the Chinese calendar, and the country seemed alive THROUGH THE GREAT WALL 31 with people marrying and giving in marriage. Before dawn we had passed through several villages where weddings were in progress, and at 4.15 went through one village where the bride was still seated in the cart, waiting to be called in to her new home and husband, to say nothing of her mother-in-law. Sedan chairs are not much used in that district for weddings, and frequently among the poorer people the bride is escorted to her husband seated on a humble donkey. Our wanderings that day landed us at Ta Ch’eng Tzu (Great City), a large and busy town associated with the life and labours of James Gilmour. The last few miles of the road lay for the most part by the side of a rough and dry watercourse, and when at 4 p.m. we came in sight of the town, having been on the road thirteen hours and travelled 4o miles, animals and men alike were thoroughly wearied and ready for the day’s rest we promised ourselves on the morrow. CHAPTER III IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS THE town of Ta Ch’eng Tzu, where we proposed to spend at least one full day, stands on a little river that forms one of the headwaters of the Hsiao Ling Ho, which eventually flows into the Gulf of Liaotung past the city of Chin Chou Fu. The town itself is modest and unprepossessing, but is one of the busiest places in all that wide district. Daily markets are held in its street, and all day long there is a constant stream of people coming and going, intent on the buying and selling that make up so much of the Chinese life. We found tolerable, not luxurious, quarters in a side street at the east end of the town, and were surprised, and not a little gratified, to learn that at one time, for a short period, James Gilmour, the brave and untiring evangelist who gave his life for the Mongols, had resided in that same inn. Later, he had made his permanent residence in another inn some few hundred yards up the main street, but it was something to us that, without any intention or expectation on our part, we should have been directed to this place. From this day onwards we found ourselves following in James Gilmour’s footsteps, and here perhaps most appropriately some reference may be made to his work and the influence of his saintly and self-forgetting life upon the rough people of that rough district. 2 IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 33 It was in the year 1885 that Gilmour, somewhat disheartened by the non-success attending his ministry among the Mongols of the plains, felt called to undertake work among the settled Mongols in the wide regions east of Peking. His biography, written by the Rev. R. Lovett, M.A., gives the reasons for this change of field, and prints a letter from him in which he is fully sensible of the difficulties before him, yet hopeful that labour among the settlers would probably be more fruitful than had been the case on the plains. It was to this little known town of Ta Ch’eng Tzu he was first led (see “James Gilmour of Mongolia,” p. 178), and, so far as we could gather, in this same inn where we were located that he found accommodation. “The surrounding country is peopled with Mongols and Chinese in about equal proportions. The Mongols are mostly lords of the soil, and style the Chinese slaves—that is, in the country. The real trade of the whole locality is in the hands of the Chinese. The Mongols all speak Chinese, and the town resident Mongols have, many of them, forgotten Mongolian, and laugh at themselves as not being able to speak their own language.” Here, then, he first began that work for God which in his lifetime yielded so little fruit, and from here he gradually obtained an interest and standing in the larger and more important towns of T’a Tzu Kou and Ch’ao Yang, where Christian Churches established by him are still existent and flourishing. We had not been long in our inn when one of our colporteurs, who had been on the street to get his food at a restaurant, returned to say that in the restaurant-keeper he had come upon one of Mr. Gilmour’s converts, who, on learning that we were Christian missionaries, had announced his intention of making a call on us. In this man we had, though we did not know it at the 4 34 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA time, the very man Li San who was perhaps the principal cause of all the sorrow and anxiety endured by Gilmour in his association with Ta Ch’eng Tzu. References to this man will be found on pp. 186, 218, and 223 of the biography already named, and none of them are much to his credit. He was the first convert baptized there, and later claimed that prior to baptism he had been promised employment by Gilmour. Never having made any such promise, the missionary naturally resisted the claim, with the result that the little Church there was eventually disbanded, much to the grief of the lonely man who had worked and ‘prayed it into being. The morning following our arrival Li San, accom- panied by a second man named Ch’en Yi Te, who also claimed to have been baptized by Gilmour, called upon us in our room. Candour compels me to admit that we were not at all well impressed by them, though neither of us then realised that this Li was the very man who had proved such a thorn in the flesh to Gilmour. Plausible enough in speech, and apparently eager that something should be done to resuscitate the scattered Church, there was yet something lacking to satisfy us as to the genuineness of their interest in the gospel. With further knowledge of the history of Li San, I am now disposed to think that his desire for reorganisation, and his assurances that there were at least fourteen men who had never lapsed to idolatry ready to return at the first opportunity, were prompted by his older desire to be made the preacher in charge of sucha Church. And if appearances went for anything, both men had fallen far short of the high standard set up by Gilmour in regard to drinking and smoking. However, it was not for us, passing visitors as we were, to form hasty judgments as to the real attitude of these IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 35 two men to the Christian faith. It was at least in their favour that they had thus openly avowed once more their association with missionaries, and that night, for the first time in many years, so they told us, we held a little service in our humble room, these two men joining heartily in the singing of favourite hymns and offering of prayers. We spent the whole day following our arrival in the town on the street standing before a table with our books displayed, and while the four of us took regular turns in preaching, we also sold several hundred copies of the Scriptures to the crowds who gathered round. Not for ten minutes at any one time did the throng round our stand cease. Mongols and Chinese alike were interested in the two strangers who had suddenly gone amongst them, and revived their memories of James Gilmour by preaching and selling in the open street. How many times we were asked if we had known “Ching Mu Shih” (Gilmour’s Chinese name) it would be impossible to tell, But many men that day told us of how they had been treated by him medicinally, and how in all his association with them his conduct had been “pu ts’oa” (without blemish). “The evil men do live after them, The good is oft interred with their bones” is not always true. James Gilmour had been dead nearly fourteen years when we were at Ta Ch’eng Tzu. Nothing had been done in any way calculated to keep his memory fresh amongst those people. The town had been the scene of some of his most disappointing and humiliating experiences. The little Church he had founded had been destroyed through the insincerity and self-seeking of the principal men he had gathered 36 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA round him, and the knowledge of these facts was public property. Yet there are scores of people there to whom his name still spells kindness, sympathy, and love ; who, while they may not have realised it when he was amongst them, know now that in their midst had lived and laboured one who never thought of or for himself, whose aim in life was to help and bless them, and in blessing them, to glorify his God. As men count things James Gilmour’s life in Mongolia was wasted, one huge failure. But there are other modes of reckoning than ours, and the Great Day will perhaps reveal how wonderfully he has succeeded. We found the people at Ta Ch’eng Tzu always patient and good-tempered, attentive to all we had to say, and ready enough to agree that the “taoli ” (doctrine) we preached was “hao” (good). Among them were many Mongols, and not a few Lamas, and to some of the latter we even managed to sell our books, hoping and believing that in the quiet hours of some of the temples and monasteries round some of the revealing truths of the New Testament might enter into minds all too ignorant and darkened. Unfortunately, the itinerant missionary in China has perhaps to endure few trials more benumbing than the apparent hearty agreement of his hearers with all he says, and then the drifting away of these same people, with no more abiding interest in what he has said than they would have in the harangue of a travelling quack doctor. Such work is largely a matter of sowing seed by the wayside. The fowls of the air come and devour it up, and in scores of cases where you had expected some fair results you see absolutely nothing to encourage you. It was so with James Gilmour in his day; it is so with many of his lesser-known successors to-day. And the only comfort you have IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 37 is to throw yourself back on the promises of Holy Writ, “It shall not return unto Me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.” Ta Ch’eng Tzu we found had suffered severely at the hands of the brigands two years before our visit. One of the principal pawnshops had been razed to the ground, and two of the managers, slow to satisfy the demands of the bandits, had been roasted to death over a slow fire. A company of cavalry had therefore been stationed in the town for the protection of the inhabitants, but to our view they seemed to be suffering from lack of useful employment, and spent their time in wandering aimlessly round, when they were not engaged in the worse practices of opium-smoking and gambling. We sent in our cards to the officer in command, acquainting him with the purpose of our visit, but he, being away from home, no notice whatever was taken of them, which we suspected accounted for the somewhat insolent tone many of the soldiers assumed towards us. The inn in which we stayed had a branch of a certain well-known foreign firm established in the yard, of course under Chinese management, and we saw several purchases of skins of various kinds made during our stay there. On the streets we found also the signboards of two or three other familiar firms, as indeed proved to be the case in all the busy towns of Inner Mongolia. These skins are purchased singly and in bulk from the people of the neighbourhood, where are constantly to be seen immense flocks of sheep, goats, and oxen grazing on the hillsides. Dried and tightly packed, the skins are sent across the mountains through Leng K’ou and Chieh Ling K’ou to stations on the Peking-Mukden Railway, whence they are sent to Tientsin for export to Europe and America. The cost of transit is certainly not high, 38 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA working out at 1s. 6d. for one picul (133 Ibs.), but the process is a slow and laborious one. If the little river that flows past the town were but made navigable for small flat-bottomed boats these skins could be much more easily sent on to Chin Chou Fu, not more than 100 miles east. But it pays the native dealers better to hire the mules and send them a long and weary journey of 250 miles across the hills within the wall, and save a considerable sum in railway freight. Hence the most natural outlet for their trade ripples past their very doors unused. The mules bearing their heavy burdens are constantly met on the roads, one man managing as many as ten or a dozen. They travel very slowly, but invariably do their 33 miles a day. The leading mule always has a rich deep-toned bell suspended from his neck, and it is most interesting to observe, whether on the road or at the inns, how the other mules know their own bell and follow their leader. The most pitiable part of the business is the dreadful sores that the swaying burdens cause on the backs of the mules, but in China those are taken as a matter of course. As a rule the animals are quiet and docile enough, yet a stranger might think them fierce and vicious when he noticed that each of them wears a big basket muzzle. This, however, is not a precaution against biting propensities, but simply that as they travel they should not be tempted to stop and nibble at the grass growing alongside the roads. From Ta Ch’eng Tzu to T’a Tzu Kou is a short distance of 23 miles, slightly north-west, and this we comfortably accomplished in one day’s tramp. The road varied much in character as we went along. Near Ta Ch’eng Tzu it is full of stones and boulders, and not under cultivation at all. But after passing Hsiao Ch’eng Tzu (Small City), which is a very large Mongol village, IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 39 the land improves considerably, and the furrows under the plough stretch in lengths of several hundred yards. So it continued till we passed Lama Tung (Lama Cave), another Mongol village, where it again became a mere stony valley with but little cultivation possible. Before reaching Lama Tung we fell in with an old Mongol woman of 55 years of age, who hurried alongside of us to keep in conversation, and greatly interested us by her naive and simple views of things in general, and her dislike of the Chinese in particular. She was on her way to Lama Tung, where her brother, a Lama abbot, had some days before fallen and broken his leg. Among other things she told us she had two sons, one 21, the other 18, and invited us to condole with her in that she was too poor to purchase wives for either of them. Poor old lady, that seemed her heaviest cross. She felt disgraced in the eyes of her neighbours that she had not so far secured a couple of daughters-in-law to order about. We lunched at a quiet Mongol village named Wa Fang Tien (Tiled Houses Inn), and at 11.15 went leisurely forward to T’a Tzu Kou. The road was if anything even more barren and desolate than that of the morning, trees being conspicuous by their absence, and the valley so rough and stony as gave but little chance of decent cultivation. At T’a Tzu Kou we found comfortable quarters at the misson chapel, to which, through a friendly Mongol, we had already sent notice of our going. We spent there a couple of interesting days, though of mere sight-seeing we did next to nothing, the time being filled up with the special work we were out to do. The name T’a Tzu Kou signifies Pagoda Valley, so called from a famous old pagoda of the T’ang dynasty (A.D. 618-907), that stands a few miles west of the town. But the official name of the city is Chien 40 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Ch’ang Hsien—that is, the Gloriously-Founded City, a name but rarely used by the people generally, who prefer the shorter and apter designation. The streets of T’a Tzu Kou are broad and well kept, lined on either side with good shops, many of them in size and style not inferior to what may be seen in Peking or Tientsin. It is a great trade centre, a speciality being, according to the numerous signboards, the importation of Shantung goods. There are over seven hundred business houses in the city, while the total popu- lation is estimated to be well over one hundred thousand. It stands in a fertile valley through which runs the small river already noted at Ta Ch’eng Tzu. Thetwo principal streets run right through the town north by south and east by west, and though there is never that appearance of bustle that the smaller street of Ta Ch’eng Tzu presents, yet all day and every day a good deal of business is done. And the foreign visitor who wants a crowd round him need only attempt to set up his camera on the street to have his wants abundantly satished. Where the people all spring from then is simply astonishing. Here also, as at Ta Ch’eng Tzu, we came upon memories of James Gilmour. In this town he spent a good many months of the last years of his life, living and working alone, fighting with the demon of loneliness that clutched at his heart, facing manfully his disappoint- ments as they came in turn from insincere adherents, or the stern necessities of a Mission board that denied him companionship and assistance. Gilmour made his home at this town in the Jen Ho Tien (Benevolence and Harmony Inn), and the old inn still standing, we made a little pilgrimage there just to see if aught remained to connect the place with a man of such consecrated life as his was, The rooms he actually occupied had long before IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 41 been demolished, and the yard turned into a cabbage plot. But something did remain which was to us as a parable. All Chinese have a custom of pasting up on their doors and gate-posts aphorisms expressive of good luck, health, wealth, prosperity, &c. And usually one of the first signs of a change of faith on the part of a Chinese will be the change of the old pagan aphorisms for others of distinctly Christian sentiment. On the gate- posts leading into the little yard where Gilmour had once lived there were the remnants of the last scrolls he must have had pasted up before his death. But only three characters remained ; on the right hand, one, “Sheng,” signifying “holy”; on the left side, two, “Fu Yin,” meaning “happy sound,” or gospel. Reading from right to left, in the proper Chinese fashion, these three characters read “Sheng Fu Yin,” or Holy Gospel. All had gone but these, and the two missionaries who stood before them fourteen years after his death could not but feel the force and truth of the parable. Missionaries come and mission- aries go, making a greater or lesser impression on the people to whom they speak, some succeeding beyond anticipations, others, like Gilmour, having to be content with but poor results, sometimes desolated with abject failure. But the Holy Gospel it is their very life to preach, often to people regardless and unresponsive, that remains, still “the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth,” and destined ultimately to triumph over the perversity and ignorance of men. All the time we were upon the streets of the town with our book-stall we were the centre of interested and, to us, interesting listeners. There were not only the average Chinese hearer, always ready to listen respectfully to what the preacher has to say, but also scores of simple Mongols and not a few friendly Mohammedans, one of whom particularly was so delighted with a cursory 42 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA glance through a copy of the Book of Exodus and its records of Moses, that he gladly put down his cash, and went off the happy possessor of a book he had never seen before. At T’a Tzu Kou we were able to make use of the telegraphs to get some messages through to Tientsin and Pakou, but the management of the line left something to be desired. For over two hours a certain office was called, but without success. It transpired later that the clerks in charge had been invited to a feast, and while they did honour to their host and the good things he had provided they had serenely left the office in the busy part of the day to look after itself. This incident provided us with a sample of “English as she is wrote,” in the receipt of the following letter when our message had eventually been dispatched :— “Bishops Gould and Hedley, c/o the Church, T’a Tzu Kou. “Dear Sirs :—that your telegram for Tientsin we have been send out already at just now. “Yours truly, H. F. .. .” The distance from T’a Tzu Kou to Pakou is 180 li, or 60 miles, and therefore involves two days’ hard travelling. The road varies from excellent and easy-going between T’a Tzu Kou and Shuang Miao, to the rough bed of an old river beyond San Shih Chia Tzu and Yang Shu Liang. The direction at first is south-west for some 3 miles, then it heads due west to Lao Shao Kuo, whence it turns at almost right angles and goes north- west to Yang Shu Kou. From there again it heads west to Yang Shu Liang, up a most execrable valley, which brings you within 17 miles of Pakou. From there the IN JAMES GILMOURS FOOTSTEPS 43 road is fairly good and straight, the 50 li being com- paratively easy travelling. Pakou is perhaps one of the most unique towns to be found anywhere in China. It boasts but one street, yet that street is 7 English miles long. That is not to be wondered at when it is seen, since the lie of the land makes anything else impossible. The mountains run close down to the town, so compelling the business places to range themselves in one long line along the narrow valley. The street is fully 30 feet wide, and the shops are quite equal to those at T’a Tzu Kou. It is a very busy place, and the traffic every day is considerable, largely due to the fact that within short distances there are gold, silver, and copper mines, besides several places where coal is produced in primitive fashion. The vile roads of the district, leading over numerous “ling,” or through rough dried-up river beds, make travelling something less than a luxury. Even to ride a pony is in places difficult, where boulders lie so thick that for an animal to make a false step might mean a broken leg; while to sit in carts and have your bones shaken to pieces, as many of the Chinese do, is an experience that no sane foreigner would willingly face. A species of mule-litter is therefore favoured by those able to afford it. The litter is simply an enlarged sedan- chair, carried not by men, but by a couple of steady, sure- footed mules. The Chinese who use them do not object to a little over-crowding, and many of the chairs may be seen providing accommodation for two adults and two children. In this town we were the guests of some old missionary friends, Messrs Barnett, Tharp, and Eagger, and spent with them a couple of delightful days. Though having few, if any, adherents in Pakou itself, they are gradually building up a strong and pure Church in the adjacent 44 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA districts, their activities now covering several hundred square miles, and having at least five centres. The official name of Pakou is P’ing Ch’tian Chou, or the City of Peaceful Springs, and there we were favoured by being invited to visit the famous General Ma Yu K’iin, at that time commander-in-chief of all the northern forces. We found him to be a genial, pleasant man of sixty-seven years of age, strong and well built in body, keen and virile in mind, and looking not nearly so old as he said he was. He was most affable with his two foreign visitors; like most Chinese, excessively and unpleasantly fulsome in his praise of our virtues and abilities, though he was profoundly ignorant of both ; somewhat disappointed when, in reply to a direct question from him, we told him the amount of our incomes ; and very anxious that we should accept from him an escort of cavalry to take us on the remainder of our journey to Jehol. This, too, after a surfeit of military officers and war correspondents of various nationalities who, finding their way into Manchuria blocked by the Japanese authorities, had been spending their time going round the various Chinese camps, quizzing and taking notes as to military conditions and prospects. One thing about General Ma somewhat amused us. He was very anxious in a childlike and guileiess way to impress us with the fact that his promotion to high rank had been but a slow progression. He had recently been honoured by being made a “ Kung Pao,” that is, Junior Guardian of the Heir Apparent, and it was quite evident that in his judgment that promotion had been long delayed, and that he considered himself quite competent to sustain even higher dignity. He seemed none too much in love with his location just then, for “k’ou wai” (outside the wall) is with Chinese officials a “Sb td govy OL ‘Coy goasopoyg asauryg v &q opoyd) ‘IQQI NI GHId YNAA NAISH YONAdANA AHL HOIHM NI “IOHAL LY AOWIVd TVINAd NI & . & ee IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 45 proverbially unpopular district. The separation from the “hub” (Peking) and the intense cold of the winter, coupled with the incessant worries consequent on brigand activities, tend to make them sing a doxology— assuming they knew one, and could sing it—when orders go recalling them to more civilised regions. Poor General Ma has since become one of the noted victims of the anti-opium regulations. Addicted to the smoking of the drug, he made a manful attempt to obey Imperial behests and break off the habit. But it proved too much even for so strong a man as he was, and he died at T’ung Chou in the fall of 1907. From Pakou to Jehol (Hot River), or, to give it its official name, Ch’eng Te Fu (The City of Complete Virtue), the capital of Inner Mongolia, is again a distance of 60 miles. It is a very interesting road, passing through numerous Manchu and Chinese villages, and having two difficult passes to negotiate. Of these the most trying is the Hung Shih La Liang (Red Stone Pass). From start to finish this extends a distance of over 3 miles, and approaching from the East as we did, the descent on the Jehol side is so steep and pre- cipitous that it was necessary for us to attach ropes to the back of our carts, and have a few men hanging on behind. Again and again it seemed as if the shaft mules would be carried off their feet, but Chinese mules are like their owners, strong and careful of their own bones, and we got across without having to gather up the pieces. The hills in the vicinity of Jehol are of quite a distinct type, assuming most quaint and fantastic configurations. One peak resembles an incense burner, and is called Hsiang Lu Shan (Like Censer Hill); another, named Ha Ma Shan (Frog Hill), is exactly like that amphibious creature ; while yet another in the distance recalled St. Michael’s Mount, and when we got nearer we found it 46 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA to be terraced somewhat similarly to the Giant’s Causeway. Nearer to the city is an elongated pole of rock which was noticed over a century ago, when Lord Macartney made his abortive attempt to open diplomatic relations with the Emperor Ch’ien Lung in 1795. It was a bright November day when we first saw the famous city of Ch’eng Te Fu. Northward from the Redstone Valley, 2 miles away it lies, and as we first saw it was a sight to be long remembered. There is no city wall to obscure the view. The town is built on the gently sloping hills, while trees and temples add to the harmony and beauty of the scene. Surmounting all, and climbing up the highest hillsides, is the wall encirc- ling the “Hsin Kung,” or Imperial palace grounds, 6 miles in extent, and built by the great Emperor Ch’ien Lung over two hundred years ago. Here Ch’ien Lung and some of his successors were wont to go for hunting in the Imperial forests still further north, but in 1861, when French and British troops battered at the gates of Peking, Hsien Feng, then the unworthy occupant of the Dragon Throne, fled to this palace at Jehol, and here ended his miserable reign. Since which time no emperor has set foot within the grounds, an uneasy superstition rankling in their minds because an emperor died there. It is generally imagined that the palace grounds are well worthy of inspection, but entrance within is one of the problems not easily solved. On the spot you are courteously informed that you should have provided yourself with a pass obtained in Peking from the Wai Wu Pu, through your embassy. And probably at Peking itself you would find difficulties placed in the way by sus- picious officials, who wonder why on earth foreigners are such restless mortals as to wish to undertake journeys in the interior of a land where travelling is only possible by a great expenditure of time and strength. One must Lb +d aovy of, “*TOHAL LV ATANAL NVA OT IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 47 needs therefore be content with a view from the outside. Yet any Chinese who will tip the custodian at the door may roam at pleasure amid the palaces of an emperor. Obviously, it is an advantage sometimes to be a son of Han. The entrance had been newly painted when we were there, and looked clean and fresh in the bright sunshine. Yet round about the gates were sprawling a number of the most ragged and filthy specimens of beggars that could be imagined, most of them engaged in the occupation to further which the palace was built, viz., hunting ; only their hunting was not of big game, and was over a much more circumscribed area than the old emperor intended. Explanation would be superfluous. The palace wall is built of solid masses of dressed stone some 3 feet long by 1 foot deep, and sur- mounting the wall at the north-east corner is a lovely nine-galleried pagoda of porcelain, in excellent condition, a rare thing in China. Theoretically, the palace is kept in constant readiness for the coming of the Emperor at any moment. Actually, so we were informed, many of the rooms within have been per- mitted to fall into ruins, a not uncommon thing in this land of tawdry finery and dusty mansions. The palace being sour grapes, we were fortunate in having provided for us, by the courtesy of the Tartar-General, a guide to the lovely set of temples that stand 4 miles north of the city. And _ that indeed was a visit worth making. The valley, in which the temples stand, is surrounded on all sides by lofty tree-clad hills. The temples, five in number, are the habitations of Lamas, the exponents of that form of Buddhism which has fastened itself so tena- ciously on the Mongol people. Two of the temples 48 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA are roofed with brass tiles said to have had a coating of gold, and the sheen is dazzling to the eyes when the sun sparkles and glistens upon them. In all the courtyards are thick and lofty fir-trees, while from the eaves hang tinkling bells, making sweet music with every gentle breeze that blows. Naturally, the Potala temple, facsimile, though smaller, of the Potala of Lhasa, was that which attracted us, and of course was that into which we found our entrance barred. An open-air theatre was erected in the valley, and there we found hundreds of Lamas, of all ages and sizes, this being urged as the reason why admission that day was not convenient. The play being performed was named “The Wicked Monk,” which perhaps accounted for the interest of the priests in the performance. The temple is built four-square on the side of the hill, and resembles a medizval castle more than the ordinary temple. There are nine tiers of windows in the front, and the walls are coloured a light pink. Standing at either end, and with another line in front, are magnificent speci- mens of Buddhist dagobas topped with golden crests, and the large compound studded with fir-trees makes a beautiful picture. The Potala is said to contain seven hundred Lamas, who, however ignorant them- selves yet wield unbounded influence over the credu- lous and superstitious minds of the simple Mongols. The Lo Han T’ang is another temple well worthy of a visit. We were successful in gaining admission here, though not without difficulty and delay. Inside we found a galaxy of 508 idols, all representative of Buddhist saints, made of wood, yet painted to look like gold, and kept in perfect condition. It is con- sidered irreverent to count the idols in the temple. More in joke than earnest, I suggested checking ob sd aovy OL SAATN NVI NO LHTNVH IN JAMES GILMOUR’S FOOTSTEPS 49 the numbers to a young fellow accompanying us, but desisted on noting that he was genuinely anxious I should do no such thing. Jehol, besides its lazy Lamas, has a considerable Manchu population, and the women, with natural feet and peculiar head-dress, seem to mix with the populace much more freely than do the Chinese women. All the Manchu boys wear a plain earring in one ear, a common practice among the bannermen as a pre- ventive against disease. Modern education has penetrated here, and a flourish- ing Middle School has been organised with something like one hundred students, the best of them being drafted eventually to the Imperial Universities at Pao Ting Fu and Tientsin. From Jehol to Yung P’ing Fu, by boat down the Lan River, was the concluding stage of this interesting journey. In five days we travelled some 200 miles, shooting numerous rapids and startling thousands of ducks and wild geese. The traffic on the river is very great, and might easily be increased if some attempt at conservation of the river were made by the authorities. The scenery is simply grand, the mountains running sheer up from the stream, which winds in and out in most circuitous fashion. You pass through the Great Wall at Pan Chia K’ou, where the tower was destroyed by floodg in 1883, and at Lanchou can connect with the train that carries you onward either to Peking or Shanhaikuan. CHAPTER IV TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS BETWEEN the journey described in the last two chapters and that which is to form the main topic of this book another trip, of more modest pretensions, though not less laborious, was undertaken in some of the by-paths beyond the wall. In this trip we purposely avoided the large centres of trade previously visited, and concentrated our attention entirely upon the market villages and towns lying obscurely among the hills. Our transport on this occasion was a quartette of sturdy little donkeys, who carried our cases of Scrip- tures on their backs, the loads becoming lighter’ the further we travelled and our books disappeared. I had again with me four men, chief of whom was Ch’en Ho Ts’ai (Ch’en of the Harmonious Talents), who accom- panied me on my previous trip to Jehol. This time Ch’en excelled himself as a bearer of discomfort and hardship, for he footed it every yard of the 300 miles we travelled, and yet was always ready to take his stand on the streets, preach, and sell for six hours at a stretch, and then, after a good meal and a quiet smoke, sit cross-legged on the public “k’ang” (brick bed) in the inns, declaring to a group of interested listeners the principles of the gospel he believes in. Next to him was a man of more sober character 50 “oS ‘d oan) of, “SAMALLdINOS ONITIAS (ILXUNMYD YNOT x1) IV SL OH NA,HO WAALNOd TOO TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 51 and much more scholarly attainments. This was Wang Pao (Precious Prince), who, as we tramped along would often sidle up to me and beguile the weary way with interesting tales of his early experiences in Manchuria, whither he went to seek the fortune he has not yet found. He was also honest enough to inform me that his interest in the gospel was aroused in Manchuria by purely selfish motives, and that when he first began to attend the preaching it was with the sole hope and expectation of worldly profit. Yet, like many another man in China and other countries, closer aquaintance with the truth meant the disappearance of ulterior motives, and Wang Pao to-day is the head of a large household, every member of which is a sincere Chris- tian. One of his sons, in the year 1900, met a martyr’s death at the hands of the Boxers. Besides these, in charge of the donkeys we had an old and original character, Yang Lao Jung, affectionately known among his friends as “Old Glory.” He is a queer make-up. For some ten or twelve years an earnest Christian man, it is only within those years that he has learned to recognise a few simple characters in the New Testament. He cannot write his own name, yet his knowledge of New Testament incident is re- markable and his familiarity with the “ Pilgrim’s Progress” phenomenal. His knowledge has been gained principally in his own home, where his two lads, intent on their lessons, have formed the habit of reading to their parents in the evenings selections from the Gospels and Bunyan’s immortal allegory. “Old Glory’s” wonderfully retentive memory accounts for the rest. And his stores of memory were very useful when he turned from the tending of donkeys to the selling of Scriptures. Chao Chiu Ch’ing (Chao of the Nine Brightnesses), 52 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA a big, sturdy fellow of thirty, and son-in-law of our Precious Prince, was our fourth man. Strong as a horse, willing as a dog, gentle as a kitten, tractable as a child, he was everything that could be desired on a rough road, and took all the hardships we met with a merry smile or a philosophic grin. My old pony Hansl and myself completed our party, and a merry time we had for the twenty or more days we were on the road. On this trip I parted company with all the adjuncts and encumbrances of civilised life. I took no servant with me, and for food depended on what could be secured at the several inns we visited. This meant a_ considerable saving of transport, since the traveller who eats foreign food in China must necessarily take with him all the utensils for both cooking and serving meals. Kettle and teapot, frying-pan and plates, cups and saucers, pepper, salt, and mustard are then as much a necessity as your bedding, and that can never be done without. This time I took my cour- age in both my hands, and determined to live as do the average Chinese travellers. Two big meals a day, whatever could most conveniently be secured ; up each morning by four or five o’clock; on the road without breakfast for a 10 or 12 miles tramp to our next market; breakfast on arrival, and then six hours on the streets. Such was our life for twenty days, and I got back just before Christmas in the pink of condition: hard-muscled and sun- burnt, digestive organs unimpaired, and all the better for the fact that I had so literally lived upon the land. Staying one night at Yen Ho Ying, Ch’en and I, with my pony, climbed the pass which leads over the Great Wall at a place called Hu T’ung Yiu. TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 53 This saved us a circular journey of over 3 miles, which our donkeys were compelled to take, vid T’ao Lin K’ou. But the climb up the face of the hill was one of the stiffest we were to meet. I suppose we had not then got either our hill legs or wind, but we were both glad to rest a few times before we reached the top and passed through the tower of the mighty wall. Our task was not made easier by the company of a ragged little urchin of twelve, who had been serving as a cowherd and was now return- ing to his home beyond the wall. He audibly smiled when we stopped “to view the landscape o’er,” and when we reached the top and were loud in our praises of the magnificent hills stretching before us, his nonchalant and contemptuous remark was, “ Tsai women na li, che ke chiao p’ing ti” (Where I come from, we would call this level earth). Such is the difference of view taken by the hillman and the dweller on the plains. Descending on the farther side, we found the road of most vile character. It was but a narrow bridle-path we followed, and numerous boulders lay all along. It led us up to the stream already named as the Ch’ing Lung Ho, and at Shih Men Tzu (Stone Gateway) appeared to finish in a cul-de-sac. But there we found the river flowed through a gap in the rocks, and through this I afterwards learned our animals had had to find their way. The other road they had gone to seek had been found impassable, the river being too deep for fording, and the winter bridges not having been erected. We spent that night in a quiet place called San Ch’a Kou (Three-Forked Valley), and there next morning attended our first market. Never before had a foreigner been seen in that market street, and the attentions of the 54 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA crowd were more pressing than welcome. Yet as a rule the Chinese crowd, though exuberant in its curiosity, is not rowdy, and it is remarkable how a genial joke from the lips of a foreigner will check any approach to insolence, and make the blatant bully slink away abashed and ashamed. For some miles further on the path was as that of the previous day, a bridle-path strewn with stones, but at Yang Tai Tzu, a large village where we found some peripatetic conjurors at work, it widened into a decent cart road, and at Huang Chang Tzu (Yellow Tents) we emerged into a broad triangular valley. Here we struck the main road to Chieh Ling K’ou and T’ai T’ou Ying, as was evidenced by the number of mules we met and passed on the way. At Ts’ai Chia Yi we put up for the night in a “ pig- inn,” a term that needs explanation. On these roads beyond the Great Wall there will be found in the various towns and villages inns of four distinct grades. There is first the ordinary inn where mules and horses, donkeys and passengers can be comfortably housed and accommodated. Then there is the small inn where only foot-passengers can stay. The countryman tramping to some distant place to seek work, the humble huckster with his pack, these find cheap accommodation there. James Gilmour tells of being turned out of two inns because he was travelling on foot, and relates how when he hired a donkey that creature was his passport to respectability (see his Life, by Lovett, p. 182). Then there are the camel inns where only the ships of the desert are received and other animals keep a wide berth. The camel is a veritable terror to mules and ponies in Mongolia, and is therefore for the most part compelled to travel by night, spending the days in the special inns provided for their reception. And, lastly, there are the TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 55 “ pig-inns,” in one of which it was my fortune to stay at Ts’ai Chia Yu. These have special sheds or “ pens” for the accommodation of the grunting guests, while the yards are filled with low troughs where Piggy can be fed. When I reached Ts’ai Chia Yi and entered the quarters my men had secured for me, thirty large black pigs, en route from T’a;Tzu Kou to T’ai T’ou Ying, were just about to be fed. It was the maddest, noisiest pigs’ Bedlam I have ever seen. And I helplessly wondered how I was to get any sleep amid such a pandemonium as that. But my fears were groundless. For when the meal was over, and not a grain seemed to have been left uneaten, Porky shuffled his several ways into the sheds above named, and, huddling together for warmth, slept the sleep of the tired and well fed. By three o’clock next morning they were on the move again; and travel- ling altogether twelve hours, the utmost they can do is io miles a day. These droves of pigs are usually in charge of two or three men, one walking ahead with a wooden measure in his hand, containing a few black beans, calling out incessantly the cry to which all pigs in China readily respond, “ Lu-lu-lu-lu-lu.” And Piggy grunts and shuffles behind, hoping to come up with, yet never reaching, those beans, and getting but one square meal at the end of the day’s tramp. It is a novel version, if it may be stated without irreverence, of “My sheep hear My voice, and they follow Me.” On this tramp we purposely avoided as far as we could all the large and important towns, yet passed through one of the best next morning, by name Shuang Shan Tzu (Twin Hills). This name is derived from the presence at its northern end of a couple of cone-shaped hills almost identical in size and appearance. The town itself has one long street of well-built and well-stocked stores, and is reputed to be one of the best and busiest 56 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA markets in the territory. We found there a small force of soldiers, and the previous winter they had been kept very busy seeking to drive off numerous bands of marauding brigands, who find in the wealthy Mongols and Chinese business men comparatively easy prey. Wu Lan (Misty Vapour), which we next visited, is a collection of five or six villages lying in a broad and open valley, where the hills tower proudly over you, and in the early morning are enshrouded in clouds. Small though the place was, the number of people attending the market was surprisingly large, proving the presence of a large, if scattered, population in the valleys of the district. We spent some hours selling and preaching there, and went forward to spend the night at Yang Shu Wo Pu (Poplar Tree ‘Shed), a village reached only after a toilsome tramp in the late afternoon across several small “ling,” or passes. At the farther side a recent fall of snow and keen frost had made the road down very difficult and dangerous, and we were thankful to reach in safety the comfortable inn in the village. Here a surprise awaited me. A Chinese gentleman standing in the yard when we arrived saluted me with a courteous “Good morning, sir.” (It was four o'clock in the afternoon, but that made no difference to his good manners.) He proved to be an overseer of gold-mines in the neighbourhood who had lived ten years in Australia, and proud to display his knowledge of English before the admiring and wondering natives. Our landlord here was a very decent fellow, who during the evening came to me asking if I could do him a favour. His look was so serious that 1 imagined some great calamity had befallen him. He was easily com- forted, however, for all he wanted was that I might show him how to wind up a watch that some Tientsin friend had presented to him five or six years before. Four TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 57 turns of the key and the trick was done, to our friend’s great joy and satisfaction. And that watch had been hanging on the wall of his room, quite idle, I know not how many months! Yang Shu Wo Pu must have some fine pear-trees as well as poplars, for a good trade is done from that small village in this sweet and refreshing fruit. Pears are sold on the spot at prices between $1 and $2 per picul (133 lbs.), while within the wall, whither they are sent, they cost from $8 to $12 for the same quantity. Each night the three inns are crowded with travellers, while the inn-yards, and even the main street, are packed with mules for whom there is not sufficient accommodation inside. So busy are these roads that seem so remote from civilisation. At Mu T’ou Téng (Wooden Benches), where we stopped to attend the market next day, we met with an ordinary sample of quasi-official oppression and extor- tion. While standing on the street about midday, there was a sudden commotion, and I saw a couple of yamen underlings hustling a poor countryman along under arrest. The prisoner's jacket was half pulled off his back, while behind him walked a young whipper- snapper of some twenty summers, clad in gorgeous silks and furs, and at every few steps bringing down on the man’s bare back ‘a long cane riding-whip which instantly raised wheals only less pleasant to feel than to see. We learned that the man had been found selling donkey- flesh, an indictable offence in these parts, and these runners, generally the basest scallywags in the country, had come on the scene declaring that they had lost a valuable mule some weeks before, and insisted on his paying them 600 strings of cash (about £10) to secure his release. The man protested that it was his own donkey-flesh he was selling and that he had already paid 58 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA his “squeeze” for the permission, but at length, on the intercession of friends, he was released to see how much he could raise to buy off his captors. And this sort of thing goes on constantly in those regions. A company of rascals, down on their luck, will make a tour of the market towns and villages, select their man, and wielding a false authority, bleed and squeeze the poor fellow to the tune of a few hundred strings of cash ere they move to fresh fields and pastures new. Those men that day, however, had not reckoned on running up against a foreigner ; and though I could not spare the time to remain behind and prevent the successful carrying-out of the scheme, I could not resist the temptation to make them feel uncomfortable. In the inn, therefore, I sought out my much be-silked and be-furred dandy, and asked him very quietly if he knew that the Emperor had recently issued an edict forbidding the corporal punish- ment of offenders. His cheek blanched and with much confusion of face he admitted.that it was so. ‘Then suppose I insist on having your name and reporting you for what I have this morning seen on my return to Yung Ping Fu?” I queried, very much enjoying his discomfiture. ‘Ah, honourable sir, you do not under- stand. The man threatened us with his knife when we arrested him, and we had to take stern measures.” “That may be so, my friend,” I replied, “though I have never yet seen the villager who would dare to show fight against a parcel of men like you, but the main thing is that you have overstepped the law, and I am strongly disposed to report you.” It was delightful to see how uncomfortable my gentleman was, and I left him to meditate upon the interfering way of foreigners who go poking about the country, and spoiling so many chances of extortion and injustice. I learned afterwards that he was the nephew of the magistrate at Shan Hai Kuan, and TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 59 was evidently presuming upon his relationship to line well his pockets. Our journey in the latter part of this day was the worst and most uncomfortable of all our trip. Leaving two of our men to finish sales at the closing of the market, at 12.30 I set off with the Precious Prince and his son-in-law and two of our donkeys to make for the village of Yao Lu Kou (Wanting Road Valley). I have never met a more appropriate name for any place in all my travelling. For some time we followed a bridle-path at the foot of the hills, and then entered a valley of the most desolate and stony description, where we saw scarcely a hut and met not more than two or three men. We had then to negotiate for an hour a vile road across the pass, Tsa Tzu Kou Ling (Revolving Valley Pass), and reached an altitude of 2,380 feet. Rarely have I known so bad a road, or endured such fatigue in so short a tramp. And when we emerged into a fertile valley on the other side, it was like passing into Elysium. But our troubles were not by any means at an end. Every inn at Yao Lu Kou was full of guests, and we wandered from one to the other for over half an hour in futile attempts to secure accommodation. I tried to crack a pathetic joke with my comrades by suggesting that we might change the name of the village to “ Wanting Inn Valley,” but they were much too weary even to smile, and my original joke fell flat. We did at length get into a place of rest, but it was the dirty public room in a wretched hole of an inn where a large number of the poorer sort of travellers were already assembled. Add to this that I was the first white man to visit that obscure market, and none who know the Chinese will wonder that the room was besieged with curious onlookers, who stood round with eyes agog and mouths agape, watching me ink in my sketch map, and making audible comments 60 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA on my appearance, dress, intelligence, &c., &c. I fully expected them to wait there and watch me undress for bed, though I tried several times to have the room cleared. When hope was at its lowest, and I had reluctantly resigned myself to the endurance of such unwelcome interest and attention, one of my men arrived introducing a young fellow who hailed from our own district of Yung P’ing Fu, and who bore an invitation from a business man across the street to the effect that if I would accept his hospitality and share a room with him, he would be glad to receive me as his guest during my stay inthe town. It did not take us long to remove my bed and baggage across to my new host’s house, and to the credit of the Chinese business man let it be told I stayed from Saturday till Monday with a man who considered I had done him honour in accepting his invi- tation, and who absolutely declined anything in the way of remuneration when I departed. At this town next day, Sunday though it was, we spent a busy day preaching and selling on the streets, convers- ing with all sorts of people, from cavalry soldiers to Mongol peasants, all of whom were most affable and friendly, while the following morning before we left the town we were invited to breakfast with the principal silversmith, who also hailed from Yung P’ing Fu, and justified his kindness on the ground of neigh- bourliness. Thus our visit to Yao Lu Kou, which opened so inauspiciously, proved to be one of the most enjoyable interludes in our twenty days’ hard labour. The road from Yao Lu Kou south-east to Kan Kou (Dry Valley) proved an easy march of 10 miles, one small pass only having to be crossed, and yet we dropped 800 feet in less than half the distance. Kan Kou is the busiest market of all that district, 60 miles from Shan TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 61 Hai Kuan, by whose magistrate it is governed, and stands on the main road between the large cities of Inner Mongolia and the principal marts within the wall. We got rooms in the finest inn I have seen in those districts. I had a quiet room to myself at the end of the building, while the men found comfortable quarters in the public room, over 100 feet long and with brick beds stretching along the whole length on either side. Large as the inn is, it is only one of several others that are every night packed with guests, and the immense yard gives standing and feeding room to hundreds of mules and donkeys of the road. We spent six hours on the market the day following our arrival there, and found a ready sale for our books, with hundreds of interested listeners while we preached. Here again we found a small force of soldiers ; and here again we had to listen to the same old tale of bandit raids, which the military are more or less powerless to repel. The custom of the brigands is to suddenly swoop down upon a village or town, summon to their presence the fathers and elders, or the principal business men, and on pain of ransacking their property and carrying off their women, exact a levy either in money or kind. It may be readily understood that no bargains are con- cluded without the waste of a good deal- of eloquence. The bandits ask more than they expect to get; the villagers offer less than they know they will have to give ; and with these two extreme points as bases, they set out in typical Oriental fashion to talk the thing through. They alternately beat back and forth until the transaction is completed, and the brigands will ride quietly away, doing no harm to any one, while the elders are left to chew the cud of their reflections, But what if the villagers decline to be browbeaten and robbed? Then they must take the consequences of 62 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA their courage. One such village we passed through, where every house had been fired, every woman and girl that could be found was carried off, all because the elders determined to resist the unrighteous exactions of the bandits. It was at Kan Kou that for the first and only time in over ten years’ experience of inland China I came upon some wretched samples of the demi-monde. Leaving the inn in the early morning, I was surprised to see a poorly- clad woman hobbling alone across the compound to the gate that had been opened for us. She was one of six who had gone into the public room the previous night when a large cart-caravan turned up, and the innkeeper —a decent man enough—is obliged to turn a blind eye on them and their trade lest the carters should set up a boycott of his inn. One hears so much about the immorality of the East, and the charge of vice is so easily and glibly made, that I feel it my duty to record that in all my travelling experiences over so many years, this is absolutely the only case of the kind I have met with. There may be, nay, there is, much in Chinese customs and habits that cannot be in any sense con- doned. Many travellers are frequently enough harassed and revolted by suggestions made to them in quiet places. I merely record my own experiences and incidentally speak a good word for China. From Kan Kou we turned once more northward, passing through a Roman Catholic settlement named Chien Ch’ang, and making for the Mongol village of Mang Niu Ying Tzu (Bull Camp). The march was 40 miles in all, but we could only manage 30 that first day, leaving the remaining 10 next morning to reach the town before the market began. At Chien Ch’ang we were favoured with an invitation to dine with the foreign priests in charge, but the necessity of pushing on in the TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 63 latter part of the day prevented our acceptance. All along we heard the best reports of the Roman Catholic Church in this neighbourhood. Some seven hundred families were said to be adherents to the faith, and in not one single instance did we hear of anything to their discredit. While so far as the priests themselves are concerned, everybody spoke in terms of highest praise. I set this down here as no unusual instance of my experience of the Roman Catholic Church and her priests. Coming as it does from the pen of a Protestant missionary, it may be received as a tribute to the value of work done by men from whose system we may strongly dissent, yet whose lives of kindly self-sacrifice and real devotion can only call forth profound respect and admiration. The inn in which we stopped for lunch at Chien Ch’ang was kept by a Chinese Roman Catholic, and in one simple thing we found evidence of his change of faith. Most Chinese have pasted up either on the roof-beams or walls of their homes four characters which read “T’ai tou, chien hsi” (As you lift your head, may you see pleasure). This man’s motto was changed to “T’ai t’ou, chien Chu” (As you lift your head, may you see the Lord), a pious wish more in keeping with his new faith than the old pagan motto would be. This day being a lucky day, according to the Chinese calendar, several weddings were in progress as we passed along, and we provided an additional, if transient, diversion to the assembled guests. In this section of our march also [ unconsciously very much impressed a couple of pedestrians we met as we went along. Walking in front of my men, with the cavalry sketching- board strapped to my left wrist, I met a couple of old fellows who stared in amazement at the unusual sight 64 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA of a foreigner. They were too much surprised to return my salutation, but as they passed my men they had recovered speech, and one of them was heard to say to the other, “But did you notice what a big and peculiar hand he had? Enough to scare anybody to death.” And so I suppose my cavalry sketching-board has unwittingly proved the foundation of a new tradi- tion respecting the abnormal hands of the men from the West. Beyond San Tao Ho Tzu (The Three Rivers) we passed through a most fertile and productive valley. The villages are few and far separated from each other, and all the land is practically owned by Mongols. They farm as much of it as they can themselves cope with, and rent the remainder to the Chinese. All their houses are well and substantially built, and the entire locality seemed to be smiling with potential wealth. The land is long and low-rolling, and sweeps away into the distance without any hindrances in the way of streams or hills, and the normal harvests are ample enough to admit of large supplies being sent south for sale at Shan Hai Kuan and other places within the wall. Within comparatively short distance also are the coal mines of Ping Ku, said to be worked under German engineers. Rumour had it that these mines were to be connected with the main Imperial Railway, but so far these plans have not matured, and the coal, said to be of a fine and clean household quality, still circu- lates among a limited constituency. One of the finest markets we visited was that at Mang Niu Ying Tzu, where to hundreds of Mongols and Chinese alike we sold as many books as we could well hand out in six hours from two stands. This town stands right in the heart of the settled Mongol district, and more than half of the people attending the market TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 65 seemed to be of that race. From there we went forward to another Mongol settlement named Kung Yeh Ying Tzu (The Ducal Camp), a very large village of over a thousand families, and the seat of a Mongol duke rejoicing in the Chinese patronymic of Wu. The palace, a large and pleasantly situated set of structures by the main road, is of the ordinary Chinese style. The main entrance has the appearance of a military fort, with castellated tower, and soldiers on “sentry-go,” and the long, gay banners of usual Chinese pattern. There is also a fine parade-ground in front of the palace where the miniature army (very miniature, since there are only fifty soldiers all told) have their occasional drill. These men were a clean, healthy-looking set of fellows, and, like all the Mongols we had up to that time met, exceedingly kind and exceedingly curious. We had hoped to get a look inside the palace grounds, but were politely put off by being informed that the Duke was absent in Peking, where he was said to be Master of the Horse in the Imperial household. His chief steward was also conveniently not at home, so we had to be content with the view that lends enchantment. San T’ai (Three Altars) is a little village on the main road to Ta Ch’eng Tzu, through which we had passed a year before. We stayed in a large inn owned by a very wealthy Chinese, who had also a second inn in the village, besides a large private dwelling-house. He is the happy owner of 1,500 mow (250 acres) of land, and his son affirmed that they simply kept the inns in order to have a regular supply of manure for their land. His private residence has a substantial and strongly built fort at its main entrance in the same style as that of the ducal palace at Kung Yeh Ying Tzu. This being so unusual a sight at a private residence, I asked his son the meaning of it. “Oh, that was built five 6 66 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA years ago as a ‘p’ao t’ai’ (fort) from which we might resist the brigands when they come.” “Very good,’ said I; “and how did you manage three years ago when the brigands were so active?” “Ah,” was the answer made without a blush of shame, “when the brigands came we were all so much afraid that we ‘p’ao liao’ (ran away) and left the ‘p’ao t’ai’ (fort) to take care of itself.” A typical Chinese way of using a fort. From San T’ai to Ssu Kuo Ying Tzu (Four Distillery Camp) is only 4 miles north-west, and though not a large place, it also has a wonderfully busy market. Our inn here was a choice place. At one end of the private room we occupied was the “k’ang” (brick bed) where my two companions and I slept. At the other end was a donkey’s trough, where the landlord’s quadruped spent a lot of his spare time. Two attempts were made to bring our asinine friend into his usual feeding-place; but charity, though it may be long- suffering, did not quite get up to that height, especially as our animals were meditating on the ways of life under a wintry sky outside. So my lord the ass had to be content to share the yard with our animals, while we tried to sleep the sleep of the tired inside. I will leave it also to the imagination of my readers to realise how I enjoyed the sight of “Old Glory” on the hunt in his nether garments when he thought I was safely into the land of Nod. His bunk was next to me too. And when I protested at his “hunting” at that time of night and in such close proximity to me, his laconic response was “ Yao wo la” (But they bite me). He is a good old chap, all the same, but when I told him that we foreigners kept from the necessity of such hunting by regular, if not daily, baths, his rejoinder was a tremendous “ Hai-ya! ni shuo” (You don’t say so). “Why, I have not had a bath this year.” The date was TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 67 December 9th! As a proof of how we sold our books at this village we found that all we started with that day, several hundred portions of Scriptures, had gone save twelve copies of Exodus, and we were without stock until we joined forces with our other men next day, from whom we had temporarily separated in order to take in all the adjacent markets. The last market we visited was that of T’ang Tao Ho (River of Fording Roads), though to reach there we had a three days’ journey west, passing through Shan Tsui Tzu (Mountain Lips), Kou Men Tzu (Valley Door), and Pai Ma Shan (White Horse Hill), at which latter place we stayed one night. We also had to pass through Sha Chin Kou (Gold- Washing Valley), and had a look at the gold-mining establishment there. The gold is dug out of the hills in primitive fashion, but not much work was going on when we passed. That day is memorable to me as being perhaps the coldest day I have ever known in China. We walked 13 miles facing a biting wind before breakfast. At times it was simply impossible to face the blast, which in those narrow valleys came whistling down upon us like fiends from a far-off clime where it is popularly supposed to be much warmer than we found it that day. All we could do was to turn our backs for a few minutes to get breath, and then on and on again, with frozen ears and empty stomachs, and icicles an inch or more long hanging from our moustaches. On the market also we found it difficult to stand, and after persisting for an hour or two, until we were almost past feeling, I ordered the men to shut up shop and seek the doubtful shelter of a cold and cheerless inn, From here we turned homeward, with our books all but sold out, making south by way of Erh Tao Chang Tzu (Two Roads Tent), famous locally for an 68 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA intrepid archer named Wang, still living there. This man has been on two or three occasions badly de- spoiled by brigands, and now gives himself up, vendetta- like, to seizing all the brigands he can lay hold of, and “haling them to prison and to death.” So active has he been that some time ago he was made a military “ Chu-jen” (M.A.), and is certainly the best-feared man in his locality. Here we saw growing what I had never before seen, mistletoe, called by the Chinese “Tung Ch’ing Tzu” (Frozen Green). It was growing on poplar and willow- trees at Erh Tao Chang Tzu and two other places we passed through. For it the Chinese have no use what- ever, and I think that is the first thing I have ever known that the adaptive and economical “John” could not employ. He has yet to be initiated into the pleasures of Christmas. A ten-cent piece persuaded a man to climb a tree and break off a piece for the foreigner. But two days later some naughty little boys, seeing it on our packs while we were having our meal at an inn, evidently found some use for my mistletoe, for when I came out it was gone. We traversed a narrow path all the way to Liu Chia K’ou, where we once more passed within the Great Wall. This road was so narrow and rough that one’s head grew quite dizzy with the three days’ walk along it. One could only walk safely by keeping one’s eyes on the ground, and what that means from early morn till dewy eve needs no elaboration from me. Entering the pass at Liu Chia K’ou we had our first accident. One of our donkeys slipped on the rocks and fell over the side of the cliff, a distance of 15 feet. My heart sank as I saw him go, for the price of a dead donkey would have added considerably to the cost of our trip. But his load fell off first, and like a cat he fell on his feet, and PASSING THROUGH THE GREAT WALL AT LIU CHIA K’OU. To face p. 68. TRAMPING IN THE BY-PATHS 69 stood trembling with fright, but meekly waiting until the men could scramble down and put his load on him again. Will it interest my readers to know that this journey of three weeks, with five men and five animals, did not cost more than a trifle over £2 10s. ?—so cheaply had we lived as we tramped through the by-paths for a distance of over 300 miles. CHAPTER V OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS My third and principal trip beyond the Great Wall was a much more ambitious and distant journey than either of those already described. The traveller's appetite grows by what it feeds on, and having already tasted the good qualities of pioneering in little-known districts, I was quite ready to jump at the chance of a more extended tour among the Mongols. The seed of this desire was planted by Lieutenant-Colonel Wingate, brother of the Sirdar of Egypt, and at that time the head of the In- telligence Branch of the North China Command. To him I am indebted for many valuable hints in travelling and surveying, and in large measure any merit that this journey of mine may possess is due to him. Examining with him one day some of the tentative maps of Mon- golia and Outer Chihli, he pointed out two or three routes that so far had never been trodden nor mapped by foreign travellers, and suggested that some time later I should include one of them in my itinerary. At the same time he proffered me such help as was in his power to give, so making comparatively easy a task beyond my meagre powers. As if to make the matter more certain of accomplish- ment, the General Committee of Arrangements for the Centenary Missionary Conference, held at Shanghai in 7o OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 71 April-May, 1907, did me the honour—all unexpected—of appointing me to deal with the two subjects of colporteurs and Mongolia, so requiring some definite statements on reports of work already done, or likely to be done, in the far-stretching plains of the grass-lands. The morning of April 21, 1906, therefore, witnessed the departure from our mission compound at Yung P’ing Fu of a small cavalcade en route for the regions of mystery and silence beyond the wall. Leave of absence had been granted me for two months ; animals and men had all been carefully selected for the arduous tramp that lay before us; and though the morning which saw us off was a dull and cloudy one, yet we were a light-hearted company of six men and seven animals. Acting on the advice of such a seasoned traveller as Sir Francis Younghusband, who says one should always travel as comfortably as circumstances will permit, on going into a region of which we knew practically nothing, it was necessary to provide ourselves with provisions for both men and beasts in case of need. We therefore carried a stock of dried provisions intended to be used only when other things were not procurable. Rice and flour, butter and sugar, and such articles were counted necessities, not luxuries. Each man of us had his own bedding for the entire journey, to which I myself added a camp-bed, while an ancient and much- travelled portmanteau contained changes of clothing likely to be required in a projected absence of eight weeks, This time we did not take with us any copies of the Scriptures for sale, for while our trip was arranged principally in missionary interests and the account which follows cannot be described as scientific, yet our igno- rance of the language spoken in the districts we were to travel, and the fact that each day’s tramp would demand 72 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA of us as much physical exertion as we were equal to, effectually prevented our spending time in attending markets on the way. Partly geographical research and partly missionary investigation may be described as the twofold object of this journey. The war between Russia and Japan, then but recently concluded, had made thousands of people familiar with the name of the Liao Ho, or river. Liaotung, the scene of the sanguinary conflicts between the two nations, designates the territory east of the Liao River, running up from Port Arthur and Newchuang through Hai Ch’eng and Liao Yang to Mukden, the capital of Manchuria, while Liaohsi, declared at the beginning of hostilities to be neutral territory, embraces all the wide and flourishing districts stretching from Shan Hai Kuan to Newchuang, where the Liao River tumbles into the northern arm of the Yellow Sea, known as the Gulf of Liaotung. This Liao River, under the name of Lao Ho (Old River), before it reaches Manchuria traverses for about 400 miles the plains of Outer Chihli and Mongolia, and my intention was by personal visit and careful mapping to secure and put on record for the first time accurate information of what till then was largely a terra incognita. My purposes were formulated thus :— 1, To explore the Lao Ho from a convenient point near its source to its junction with the Shira Muren, the large river noted on all maps of the Chinese Empire, and flowing from west to east through Mongolia for several hundred miles. 2. To follow the main route from the junction of these two rivers to an important barter-market named K’u Lu Kou, which lies some 130 miles west of Mukden, and on the great road between that city and Dolonor, otherwise known as Lama Miao. OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 73 3. To trace the direct road from K’u Lu Kou to the cities of Ch’ao Yang and Chin Chou Fu, at which latter place we were to join the Imperial Railways of North China, and our tour be considered at an end. Given time and opportunity, an additional or alter- native route was to take us in a north-west direction from the junction of the two rivers named above to the large and important Mongol settlement of Barin, where the ruling prince of that clan has his palace, and from whence come so many of the sturdy little ponies im- ported into China. We found, however, that to reach Barin and return would have meant almost doubling our mileage, and with many a wistful look in its direc- tion the project had to be reluctantly abandoned. From the missionary point of view I was to make first-hand investigations of the present conditions and future prospects of evangelistic labour among the people who inhabit the districts we were to traverse; note the populations, mark the central routes, and pay particular attention to the needs and possibilities afforded by the large cities and towns set in the districts like oases in the deserts. It was a very hasty and cursory investigation at the best, hurrying through a district against time, never staying longer than two days in any one place, and to a large extent ignorant of the language commonly spoken by the people among whom we moved. Yet even so we learned much and observed more, which will appear as we proceed; and though we ourselves could do very little as we went along, yet at the least we opened a furrow that may some day be followed and extended by others, and came back with a tolerably accurate insight into the conditions of the territory, and strongly impressed with a sense of the difficulties faced long ago by James Gilmour, and awaiting any man with apostolic fervour enough to take up the work again. 74. TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA For the greater part of the journey we were travelling amongst the Mongols and may legitimately describe our experiences by that name. Yet Mongolia is so vast and extensive a country, a land of distances so immense and of settlements so numerous, though small and scattered, that it is necessary I should state here that in our 800 miles tramp we touched only the bare fringe of its deserts, walked on but the edge of its plains, and came into contact with but an infinitesimal number of its people. Asa matter of fact, though we were travelling in Mongolian territory and among the Mongol tribes, we were never actually out of the official territory of Chihli, the metropolitan province of China, save on two occasions. The first was when for some 10 miles we followed the course of the Liao Ho, after passing the confluence of the Lao Ho and the Shira Muren. And the second was when we were within one day of finishing our long trip and crossed the ancient palisade which, some 30 miles from Chin Chou Fu, still marks the old- time boundary of the two provinces of Chihli and Fengt’ien. That the Chihli province extends so far north into such remote regions is due to the fact of Chinese colonising encroachments in the slow course of the centuries, always to the detriment of the somewhat idle Mongol and the advantage of such Chinese as do not fear to go far afield to find lands waiting for the plough. Nominally under the Viceroy of Chihli resident in Tientsin, they are more directly subject to the Tartar- General at Jehol, yet the jurisdiction and administration of the officials is a very perfunctory business in the districts I visited. “Yu ch’i ming, wu ch’i shih” (It has the name but not the fact) would in Chinese pro- verbial phrase most accurately describe it. No practical attempt is made either to protect the people from marauders, or redress evils that are patent to the most OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 75 casual observer. In many places visited by us a magis- trate has never once been seen. Why should he go into wilds so distant and among people so uncouth? He is not a restless, wandering foreigner, eager to add to his own or the world’s knowledge of the regions beyond. Hence the only appearance of authority that prevails is vested in the princes of the various Mongol banners that occupy the country, and their authority is in large measure delegated to the numerous Tama Laoyehs and Pai T’u who are always to be found on the plains. It is of necessity a very rough-and-ready kind of justice that is dealt out by these heads of settlements ; but after all, the dwellers in these parts, illiterate and uncouth though they be, are simply huge overgrown children, and easily managed, whether by coaxing or threatening. At one place we visited, 200 miles from the “hsien” or county city, and a purely Chinese settlement, we were told that anything brought to the notice of the Chinese official is systematically ignored, and the only remedy the people have when litigation is necessary (and un- fortunately they think that should be very frequently) is to wend their way to the palace of the Mongol prince, where by a judicious system of palm-greasing, “shui yu ch’ien, chiu yu li” (He who has money has right). Yet still the fiction of official authority is main- tained, and the most remote settlement we touched was said| to be part of Ch’ih Feng Hsien, a county of Outer Chihli, under the Tartar-General of Ch’eng Te Fu (Jehol). Travelling in what for great part of the way is described on British, German, and French maps as “unexplored territory,” it was desirable that the route should be properly mapped. Hence I depended not on my own amateurish use of a cavalry sketching- board, as on former journeys, but was specially favoured 76 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA with the assistance of a competent Indian surveyor, who made a most careful and painstaking plane-table traverse of our route. The use of this man was granted to me by Colonel Wingate, in accordance with his promise already named, and Captain F. G. Turner, R.E., and under the latter gentleman the sketch map bound up with this volume was later compiled. Copies of tentative maps, aneroid, sextant, &c., were aiso lent to me by the same gentlemen, and I was therefore much better equipped for effective work than if I had been entirely dependent on my own slender resources. I carried, besides, two of my own cameras, one a half-plate Lancaster tripod, “an old China hand” that had hitherto gone with me wherever I had travelled in the previous nine years, and which I had managed to save when forced to flee from the Boxers in 1900. My old camera, an ordination Bible, two volumes of Tennyson’s Life just purchased, and a few articles of clothing were all that were then saved from the wreck of that lively year. The second camera was a new No. 3 Cartridge Kodak, adjusted for quarter-size films only, than which a better instrument for the road can scarcely be imagined or desired. This camera, com- bined with a Kodak developing machine and outfit, which enables one to develop films by the roadside, in a Chinese inn or in a Mongolian hut, ensured a large quantity of pictures illustrative both of land and people, and adding materially to the pleasure and profit of the.trip. For the first time in my China travels my half-plate camera was more or less of an encumb- rance. The results were far from satisfactory. The sand and dust of the Mongolian deserts had subtle ways of getting through my bag and into my shutters, with the inevitable result of pin-pricks and smuts on the negatives that made good pictures impossible. A OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 77 borrowed shot-gun and a revolver completed my equip- ment. How we used them I shall explain later ; but it may be noted that, apart from one long journey in Shantung in 1901, immediately after the Boxer rising, this was the only occasion on which I have carried firearms in China. Such was my equipment, modest enough in all truth, yet sufficient, with bedding and baggage of myself and men, to make fairly heavy loads for five sturdy mules. These had been hired by the day, accompanied us the entire round trip, and were of course the most expensive item in the cost of the journey. When first I saw them I was immensely pleased with their appearance. They looked hardened veterans of the North China roads and fit for anything in the way of exertion and endurance. Nor could I complain of them on that score. Strong enough they proved themselves to be without doubt, yet they afforded one of the most in- teresting studes any one could desire. I never knew till I went on this trip with these mules how very like to men—and women—are the beasts that perish. Fickle, stupid, fractious, timid, quarrelsome, affectionate, selfish, foolish, wise and otherwise! They were everything in turn, and no one thing long, giving us at least variety, if not delight, in their entertainments. Had Job been of our party we might have added a few new chapters to the records of his patience. In any case we had to learn to submit to their vagaries without losing our tempers too often or overmuch, One of these mules, a finely-built and sturdy yellow brute, had a most unfortunate affection for every horse we met or passed on the road. The mere presence of a pony was enough to make him lift up his voice and cry almost with the pathos of a distressed human being, and he had to be led every step of the way lest 78 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA his amorous proclivities should land both his owner and himself into mischief. A small dainty chestnut always made me want to sing “The Parisian girl she walks like this, in a naughty manner.” But to her dainty carriage and mincing step she added an extra supply of nerves; only her master could do anything with or for her. If I happened near her she was ready to bolt straightway, while any sudden or strange object that met her gaze threw her into momentary panic. A third, the largest of all and grey in colour, seemed to think that his mission in life was not to carry my bundles and boxes, but to privately investi- gate any clump or hillock that lay off the line of march. He had a most exasperating habit of turning off the road and meandering into the fields, and it became necessary to tie him up behind his yellow brother to teach him the virtue of continuity. Of the other two, no special characteristics need be noted, though they had them. One of them, a bay, was ridden by my cook nearly all the way, and was therefore easily controlled. The best and quietest of them all distin- guished itself for ever in my mind by lying down in the Lao Ho one day with my portmanteau and food- box, with results that may be imagined. How many times the loads were thrown and our march delayed I cannot even pretend to say and do not care to think. The muleteer proved himself to be even more trying than his animals, and was the one man of our party who caused anything like serious ill-temper. He was a dull country yokel, whose days are spent in mono- tonous, unchanging tramps among the hills and valleys adjacent to the Great Wall, always urging on before him, or dragging behind him, his refractory mules. His name was Li Hung Yi, but, I need scarcely say, no relation to the great Li Hung Chang. He was heavy OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 79 of countenance and sullen of soul, stubborn as one of his own mules in temper, and yet wonderfully glib of tongue when his “dander” was up and he was en- gaged in one of his numerous arguments or disputes. He tramped the weary way with the gait and intelligence of an ox, took no more interest in what he saw (though he had never been so far from home before) than the animals he led. Only once do I remember him quickening his pace, and that was when he thought the brigands were upon us and his animals in danger of changing owners. Mountain-pass and river-bed were to him only additional obstacles in the way which he was paid to cross, and I believe that if he were now asked the name of any place we stopped at, the only possible means of recollection he would have would gather round the amounts he had paid for food and fodder. He worried me more than a little while he was in my service, and there were times when his pig-headedness made me feel anything but a peaceful missionary, but now in retrospect I try only to have kindly pity for the poor fellow when I think of the limitations of his cramped life and humdrum existence. For what is his life but to rise early and rest late; tramp the whole day long and every day among scenes that have become so familiar as to be to him absolutely non-existent ; anxious only as to how much he can make out of the job he has undertaken; fearful lest some cute innkeeper should charge him too dearly for what he needs must buy: he and hundreds like him are content to go on all the years they live, with never a thought above corn or cash, and too tired in an evening even to visit a strolling theatre that may be performing in the town or village he stays at. Small wonder he did not understand a hustling foreigner, and caused me many an anxious or vexatious moment, 80 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA The most important of the five men who accompanied me was, of course, the Indian surveyor Marisami, a slightly-built, good-looking, and—what was more to the point—good-tempered young Madrasi of thirty years of age. Only once did he give any reason for the exercise of discipline, and then it was a question of food after some particularly hard days. He had formerly been a sergeant in the 28th Madras Infantry, and came to China in 1900 with his regiment, being stationed at Wei-Hai-Wei. Returning to India in 1901, he gave up soldiering when his regiment was disbanded, entered the Government Survey College, where he served two or three years, and in the summer of I905 came back to China attached to the Intelligence Branch as a surveyor. He proved himself a most interesting com- panion, with a large fund of tales of his experiences as a soldier in Madras and Burmah. He described him- self as a lonely man, with neither friends nor relatives, his wife having been carried off by the plague, while his father had fallen a victim to cholera. His English, though by no means perfect, was sufficiently good to enable us to have long chats together, and I was de- pendent on him for the only relaxation I could get from continually talking Chinese, mixed up with some mongrel Mongolian. Of his work as a surveyor there is no need that I should speak at length, and will only say that there seemed nothing in connection with his work to which he was not equal. And I will add that whenever the route we travelled is followed by other travellers, and his work checked, there will be found comparatively few errors to correct, either in contouring or nomenclature. Marisami, whose name was that of a famous Hindu god, was of course of black skin, and naturally enough in a district where foreigners are never seen attracted no OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 81 little attention. But only in one place did I hear any critical or uncomplimentary remarks concerning his colour, and that was when a company of Manchu women (much bolder than their Chinese sisters), clustered in a room at a country inn among the mountains, asked me to explain the difference in colour between Marisami and myself. Up on the plains, where the people are strangers to soap and towel, he aroused perhaps not so much interest as myself, some of the Mongols, from their open- air life and abstinence from regular washings, looking almost as black as himself. Indeed, in those regions he became quite a prime favourite with the people. He was so mild-mannered and good-natured, had such a bright, kindly face, and was always anxious to be so friendly with everybody that even the little children would venture near and stare at him without fear. His halting Chinese and his heroic attempts to learn Mongolian, in which he succeeded better than any of us, were sources of great amusement to his numerous hearers, and he can fairly claim the credit of being the first man of his race to tread over a tract of formerly unexplored country, and by his unfailing urbanity and friendliness to have done much to disabuse the minds of the people of that strange notion they have got, viz., that of all the “foreign devils” who come to China’s shores the “ black devils” are the worst. Next to him as my writer I took a trusted colporteur of the British and Foreign Bible Society, a young fellow of my own training named Weng Ch’ang Shou. This man had accompanied me on my trip into the Jehol district and then proved himself so good and uncom- plaining a traveller that I had no hesitation in setting aside my own “bookish” teacher in his favour when I wanted not only one with “the pen of a ready writer” but one who on occasion could walk his fifteen or twenty miles a day, and not fall behind by reason of 7 82 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA “the weariness of the way.” Weng (his full name means literally “the Venerable who lives for ever”) was a sturdy chap of thirty-seven, and ordinarily thinks nothing of going off in the early morning with his pack on his back, spending the day on the streets at some distant fair or market, preaching the gospel and selling the Scriptures, and then toiling home in the evening, hungry and tired, thankful if he has sold sufficient to pay his meagre expenses, and glad at heart at having put in circulation a few extra copies of the Divine Word. He is one of that humble army of gospel scouts who are doing not a little to bring the truth to China, whose work is frequently noticed only to be criticised, but who will have to be counted in among the effective forces when the whole work is some day reviewed. He can give a good reason for the hope that is in him, is no mean scholar, and on this journey was invaluable. His principal duty was to secure the correct name with the Chinese characters of every town and village we passed, every temple and pagoda we saw, to interrogate passers- by, for reasons of comparison, as to the distances between various places, and generally speaking to act as our Intelligence Officer all the way along, gleaning all kinds of information as to routes, rivers, passes, &c. That we have a complete, and, as I believe, correct record of every town, village, and hamlet we passed through, is due in the first instance to the industry of this man. The route-traverse being done with a plane-table meant that a man was necessary to carry that instrument all the way round. At the risk of being thought pedantic, and for the information of the uninitiated, I will here say that a plane-table is simply a square piece of wood screwed on to a heavy hard-wood tripod. On the board is pinned a large sheet of drawing-paper. These, with a pencil, a compass, and a ruler, constitute the plane-table OFF TO THE GRASS-LANDS 83 surveyor’s equipment, and with careful observations at every turn of the road, together with careful calculations of time and distance, a competent man can make an exact sketch of the route traversed, no matter how long that route may be. But the plane-table is a heavy and cumbersome article and requires a man of might and muscle, one well capable of fatigue, to carry it all day long and every day, and be at hand whenever a new observation has to be taken. For this hard task I had a sinewy young Christian named Yuan Min, who possessed the extra qualification of having tramped to Barin on his own account a year before. On the road with us he was the most untiring and indefatigable of helpers, always coming up with a smile and shouldering his heavy burden in most cheerful fashion. To him I was more than once indebted for little scraps of useful information, for he was never too tired to take a stroll round a village in the evenings and chat with residents who knew things. The last of my party was my cook, Sung Shu Feng by name, who, since he had a mule to ride all the way and nothing to do but get my meals ready, had really the easiest time of us all. Thus we were six men, and it was something of a shock to realise that I was the oldest, as I was the tallest of the company. It says something also for the adaptability of human nature that we toiled and tramped together for nearly two months over some of the worst roads that can be found, with many a time very insufficient or unpalatable food, and yet had no more serious disagreements in the party than the trivial dis- cussions that gathered round an extra bowl of millet or a second draught of water. For my own use and comfort I had with me again my old Mongolian pony Hansl, who on so many trips has been both slave and friend, and who was accustomed to 84 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA follow me about like a dog. He had as stable companion a little donkey named Neddy, only two years old, and the pet and property of the smallest member of my family. This little creature had become so much attached to his larger friend, the pony, that he used to fume and fret and refuse his food if parted from him for any length of time. I therefore allowed him to follow us, and he served now and again to give the Chinese writer a lift along the roads when they became specially weary, and kept close at the heels of Hansl for the entire 800 miles. His following us so closely gave rise to much amusement on the part of both Mongols and Chinese; and though he is not conscious of having had greatness thrust upon him, yet he formed the topic of many a quaint inquiry and many a hearty laugh. To this it should be added that before starting I had taken the precaution of having my passport renewed and the name of every district and important town I proposed to visit noted thereon. Marisami likewise, as a British subject, was furnished with a pass, while the British Consul-General at Tientsin had notified the Chinese authorities of my intended tour. I was thus spared the possibility of controversy or dispute with officials in distant places. For the most part I found them both courteous and willing to help, though for ‘“ ways that are dark” the average Chinese mandarin will take some beating. He can pretend so much and do so little, and often hinder where he seems to help. Yet we got through without serious trouble, and the reader who honours me by following us through the remaining pages of this book will obtain, if not a scientific account of a little- known district, yet a faithful and unexaggerated résumé of a most interesting trip in a district that prior to my visit—at least for the greater part of the way—had never been traversed by any other Western traveller. CHAPTER VI BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE OvuR muleteer had received orders to be ready for the road at 6 a.m. on April 21st, but he gave us a touch of his quality by turning up half an hour late, and then occupying fully an hour more before the loads were strapped on the wooden pack-saddles and lifted on the animals. An hour later, mounting my good old Hansl, I took leave of my colleague and his wife, lifted my hands in Chinese fashion to the preacher, teacher, and scholars who had assembled to “sung Mu Shih” (take leave of the pastor), and had soon turned my back upon the city of Yung P’ing Fu. I overtook the mules and men 5 miles away, and kept with them for the remainder of the day. Our rate of progression could never get beyond g li, or 3 miles, per hour. The mules from long usage have acquired an ambling gait that may not be disturbed and evidently cannot be improved on, for any attempt to hustle them forward merely met with a look of wonderment from the dull countenance of the man in charge, and presumably an inward contemptuous reflection on the impatient and impracticable ways of the ignorant foreigner. Making one or two slight mistakes on the road and travelling a few li further than we should have done, we passed through the small market town of Hung Ho (Red 85 86 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA River), and at 1.30 reached the village of Lang Ko Chuang, which boasts one, and not a very grand, inn. Here the old innkeeper, a man about sixty-five, had been indulging not wisely but too well, and was most anxious to impress upon us the fact that he was “ho tsui liao” (drunk). He need not have told us so often. His condition was quite visible, even to the naked eye, and we should have fared badly indeed had we been left to the tender mercies of so helpless a mortal. Fortunately for us, his son was at home, and had not so far followed his father’s example, and with no more than the ordinary delay of about two hours our needs were satisfied and we resumed our march. Passing through Hung Ho in the forenoon, an old woman, some sixty or seventy years of age, afforded us not a little mild amusement and interest, and gave some of us a new idea as to the comparative ease of observing religious ceremonies. Just beyond the north end of the street the river-bed, full of sand and pebbles and boulders, comes to within a few yards of the houses. Kneeling there by the side of the road was this old lady, very busily engaged in the burning of incense, the muttering of some form of prayer too indistinct for our untutored ears, and making numerous prostrations and genuflexions on the sand. There were neither temple, shrine, nor grave anywhere near, and in one of the pauses of her worship I ventured to inquire the special reason for her presence on that spot. The ingenuous reply of the old lady was that she was worshipping in the direction of a famous temple some few miles away on the west side of the river. The way was long, the road was rough, and the old dame felt that she could not manage to reach the temple itself, so she was compounding the matter in the manner described, doubtless believing—and I am not disposed to quarrel BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 87 with her conclusions—that her worship would be just as effectual there on the bank of the river as it would have been had she painfully toiled on her cramped and mutilated feet the stony road to the temple itself. The final stroke of humour was added to the ceremony by the slick fashion in which she seized upon her pipe, which she had temporarily laid aside, and, lighting up, turned away complacently puffing the blue smoke out of her lips, with a smirk of satisfaction on her comely face, as with the air of a virtuous duty accomplished. We were to stop that evening at Chien Ch’ang Ying, a walled market town under the shadow of the Great Wall, and whose foundation probably dates back to the time when the wall was itself first built. The road is a very pretty one, leading past many villages quaintly set on the hillsides and always surrounded by trees, while every now and again we touched the Ch’ing Lung Ho, until at the appropriately named village of Ch’ing Shan Yuan (Bright Hill Garden) we left it to the east and kept on northward alongside a small stream which flows in through Leng K’ou, and named the Sha Ho (Sand River). Chien Ch’ang Ying is one of the busiest markets within easy reach of Yung P’ing Fu, and has a population of from eight to ten thousand within and without its dilapidated walls. That the walls are dilapidated is not surprising when it is realised that they have not been repaired for over three hundred years. Happily the condition of the walls does not affect the briskness of trade, and so there is here a prosperous and flourish- ing town where grain, fuel, fruits, vegetables, and timber are sold every fifth day in large quantities. Here also are produced some of the best and strongest carpets common in North China, made out of camel’s hair, Chien Ch’ang Ying standing first in reputation amongst 88 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the Chinese for these goods. The town, which must be distinguished from the “hsien” of the same name in Outer Chihli, is in the jurisdiction of Ch’ien An Hsien, and is one of the many places in that wide county which gives to his constantly changing Honour who governs the district the opportunity of increasing riches. For some time during the war in Manchuria a few companies of modern cavalry were stationed in the town, but at the time of my visit they had all been withdrawn from the smaller towns, and now there are no more than six battalions of infantry settled at Yung Ping Fu. The immense but hastily erected barracks put up at Ch’ien An Hsien are at the present day in a lamentable con- dition of collapse and ruin. Approaching the region of the Great Wall from either side, it is surprising how many people are to be noticed suffering from goitre, many of them with ugly swellings on the neck, the growth of twenty, thirty, and even forty years. Women appear to be more generally subject to the malady, though the lords of creation make no small showing. It is mainly in the region where the hills abound that goitre is most prevalent, the cases becoming perceptibly fewer 150 li beyond the wall. The Chinese have no other name for it than the expressive generic term of “ Ka-ta” (which means any sort of a swelling or excrescence) and is a strange approximation to the English name. They are unanimously of opinion that it is quite harmless, though very inconvenient and un- pleasant, and themselves account for it by the presence of lime in the water used for household purposes near the hills. The route from Leng K’ou to Pai Niu Ts’un having been already described in a former chapter, I will not dwell on it in detail again, save to say that on this occasion, going in the springtime, before the trees had “gg ‘d aony oy “10.M ONAT FO AOWTILA NI TIVM LYAND AO NOLLOAS BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 89 got themselves clothed in their beautiful garments, the road seemed less beautiful than when I first travelled over it. We made two diversions from the main route, turning from the cart-road up a bridle-path that led into the Fo K’an Kou (Buddha Cliff Valley), where there is a very fine but small temple perched on a massive rock, and towering some 200 feet above the road. A small “ling” has also to be crossed at 880 feet, and in the com- pound of the solitary house at the top of the pass the pear-trees in blossom made a pretty picture. We breakfasted that morning in the Manchu village of T’u Shih Men, stopping at a small wayside inn and being inspected and interviewed by almost all the Manchu ladies of the settlement. Their freedom of manners, though never going beyond the bounds of decorum, were in marked contrast to the general conduct of Chinese women. I was the first thing of my kind that had happened their way, and they made the most of their opportunity, swarming into my room all the time I was there, asking questions and making the freest remarks about my appearance, my clothing, my “ good” temper, my great intelligence, my wonderful wealth, &c., &c., until a stranger coming in might have wondered whether I were not some marvellous paragon of perfec- tion, some rare embodiment of all the arts and graces that had suddenly dropped down upon them from the skies. The leader of them all was one of the youngest there, a bright, bonnie lassie of seventeen, and daughter of the landlord, who, because I was her father’s guest, and temporarily housed in a room in their private house, assumed a sort of proprietorship over me. She had passed all her days in this dirty little village among the hills, yet she was not by any means destitute of the ways of the coquette, and had a large slice of humour in her Oriental make-up. Most anxious of all was she that I should 90 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA partake of some of their food, and kept bringing to me, at first in genuine hospitality and then in “ pure cussed- ness,” one dainty after another, most of them unwelcome if for nothing else than that the household flies had been feasting and rampaging on them to their heart’s content. To crown all, my lady suddenly appeared at the door with a plate of peaches in her hand, the bloom upon them being rivalled by the glow of her own cheeks. Buta specially mischievous twinkle in her eye and a second look at the plate made it plain that the peaches were false and the rustic damsel was “having” the foreigner. When my own meal was at length brought in, my room was simply packed with Manchu humanity in the form of mothers and maidens and babies, and the Englishman’s dislike of being watched at mealtime was strong upon me. The Chinese method at such times of getting rid of unwelcome visitors is a very graceful one, and I put it in practice then. I asked my lady visitors to sit down and join me at the feast. It would have been very embarrassing if they had all accepted, for there was not room for them to sit, still less was there food sufficient to go round. The unwritten code of manners of course required that on that invitation they should all invite me to eat alone, and have left the room, that I might have my meal in peace. But they had not brought their manners out with them that day, and simply declining my invitation to eat, remained to see what would happen next. Had they been men and refused to move, I could then have asked them where and by whom they had been brought up, and they would all have slunk away at once. But you cannot be rude to a woman even if she is a Manchu rustic, nor can you take her by the shoulders and put her out, especially when she is standing six deep in your room. So I was compelled to ask them to kindly retire into the next room while I had BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 91 my food, adding that we foreigners are very stupid people at best and do not care to be watched while eating. When I had finished eating I should be de- lighted to see them all again. On this they cleared out, loudly praising the perfect manners of the blue-eyed foreigner, aud I turned with avidity to my humble dish of pork-chops and potatoes. But the maid of the inn was not to be held back by any foolish scruples of mine. In a very few minutes she was at the door again and curiously watching my mani- pulation of knife and fork. Whereupon the following dialogue ensued :— “Now, my little sister (a term of respect, not endear- ment), did I not tell you that we foreigners do not care to be watched while we eat?” “Yes, my big brother (term as above), you did that, but why should you object to me, your little sister, looking at you?” “Oh, the fact of being watched in this way makes me ‘hai sao’ (ashamed).” And she beat me completely with her unintentional compliment as she artlessly replied, “Pu k’e yi hai sao; Ni ch’ih fan shih tsai pu k’e ch’en” (Why, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your manner of eating has certainly nothing unpleasant about it). And thus the woman won, as she invariably does in a contest of wits with a mere man, and I finished my meal with a score or more of bright, eager eyes watching every movement of my hands and mouth. The meal over, I had-to submit to a series of cate- chisms. Why was my face white and Marisami’s black ? Were my clothes not cold in the winter, and did I not wear cotton-wool garments then? How was it my moustache was ginger while my hairs was dark brown ? What was my honourable age ? and, if I was only thirty- 92 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA seven, why did I have a moustache at all? Had I not made a mistake, and was I not nearer fifty than forty ? And so on and so forth, until they wanted to know all about my most intimate relations, my wife, my mother, my son, &c., &c., and those poor women of that obscure village had such a diverting time as had never fallen to their lonely lot before. And with it all I am bound to add, lest any reader who knows Chinese customs and the manner in which the woman is kept in the background should read this narrative, there were neither immodesty nor insolence, but a simple and innocent curiosity in a passing traveller who could tell them some things they had never heard before and proved to them a greater treat than a travelling circus would be in a country village at home. Stopping one night at Lo To Ling (Camel Pass) we came next day into touch with a company of professional gamblers just leaving a theatre at Ma Chuan Tzu, where they had been leading the simple villagers away in the vain hope of winning a few strings of cash. Gambling is one of the great curses of North China, and its victims are almost as numerous as the slaves of opium. Indeed, the two vices frequently go together, and many a fair homestead has been puffed and gambled away and families brought to ruin. One of the commonest forms of gambling practised in the booths that may be found at temple fair or village theatricals is that of finding the secret pea, a species of three thimble-trick. Three small boxes, identical in shape and size, are laid upon the table and the investing public are invited at so much per guess to discover that in which the pea is hidden. Naturally the outsider very rarely guesses correctly, especially as there is some sort of secret chamber in the boxes that effectually hides the pea from view. The high moral code of the Chinese condemns all such practices. Never BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 93 a temple fair is held at which proclamations are not issued forbidding gambling. Yet all are openly disre- garded by the gamblers, they having first of all made matters square with the yamen-runners, who, on con- sideration of their receiving a fee as some small share of the profits, are willing to turn their blind eye on the booths. At Ch’e Ch’ang Kou Men, where we for a mile or two turned due west, there is a road leading due east to Kan Kou, already mentioned in a previous chapter. The prismatic reading was 91° 50”, and the distance is 60 miles. Having gone the one mile up the valley, we turned at right angles northward, passed through the village of Ch’e Ch’ang Kou, where we had stopped the night in 1904, and climbed the spiral staircase road which led us up 960 feet. From there we went steadily forward and had our morning meal at a little hamlet called Chang Chia Tien. This lies in the valley of Pa Cha Chih Ling, and a more miserable, God-forsaken spot it would be difficult to imagine. Such wretched specimens of people and houses I have rarely seen anywhere; dirty faces, uncombed hair, ragged garments and tumble-down huts all seeming to indicate a depth of poverty not often met with. I remembered making the same mental note in 1904, and began on this occasion to express to Mr. Weng, my writer, my sympathy with the people condemned to live in a place like this. The vehemence of his objections was startling. He declared these people were not poor but lazy, and not only lazy, but thieving. They will not even take the trouble to “k’ai huang” (reclaim the waste land). They are over 60 miles from their county city, and among them laws count for nothing. Any man riding past them on pony or mule stands a good chance of being stalked, waylaid in some of 94 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the more lonely spots with which the region abounds, relieved of all he has worth taking, and while he gathers himself together, thankful that his life has been spared, the thieves get back home and resume their réle of inoffensive though idle villagers. “Give them plenty of meat to eat, let them occasionally get a haul from some unfortunate traveller, and they ask for nothing more.” And to give point to his argument Mr. Weng concluded his fierce denunciation by pointing out to me the large flocks of goats, sheep, and oxen grazing on the hillsides and asked me if that looked like poverty. Weng’s eloquence was stirred by the memory of personal wrongs in days past, for twice on these same roads has he been waylaid and robbed. He is also a dweller within the wall, and they invariably speak contemptuously of the people outside and regard them as more or less uncivilised. Yet, making allowance for these facts, the more I thought of it and the more I became familiar with the conditions of government, or rather the lack of it, the more I am disposed to agree that my writer was not over-stating his case. The official acts on the principle that what he does not hear of does not happen ; the unfortunate traveller, knowing that to complain to the yamen means feeing all the blood-sucking underlings, and even then running the risk of failing to make his case good, acts on the principle that he had “better keep the ills he has than fly to those he knows not of”; the marauding villagers, secure in their mountain roads and out of sight from the governing city, act on the principle of taking all they can get and keeping all they take. And so the wrongs are never righted, but perpetuated and repeated year after year, and the roads are no safer to-day than they were a couple of hundred years ago. “Shan kao, Huang Ti Yuan” (the hills are high and the Emperor distant) *b6 td aoey oF ‘NALL VIHO ONVHO ‘TIVAN LVAND GNOAGH NNI ASANIHO BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 95 sums up the fatalistic philosophy which says you have no remedy for all such evils as these. A day later we had another evidence of the manner in which the poor traveller is fleeced. At K’ung Ch’ang Man we stopped for breakfast in one of the cleanest and largest inns we had so far seen. But the landlord and his assistants did not seem to me a very decent lot, and when we had left the inn Yuan Min told us that a year before, when he had stopped at this inn over-night on his way to Barin, the landlord had extorted two hundred strings of cash (Taels 45, or £5) from some carters who were passing through, on the pretence that their carts carried goods that ought to be handed over to the officials. With the nearest mandarin 60 miles away and a small customs house at the other end of the village, the officers of which were probably in league with the innkeeper, one can form one’s own estimate of the latter’s authority. The Pa Cha Chih Ling (1,300 feet), or rather the view from the top of the pass, was as grand and magnificent as ever. Rugged crests and tapering peaks were there as before, yet not a hamlet nor hut nor human being in sight. It is the finest sample of wild and lonely splendour that the district has to show, with the T’u Shan towering over all, though itself only one of the smaller giants set upon the earth. Passing the landmarks noted on my former visit we made direct for the Mongol village of Pai Niu Ts’un, determined this time not only to interview the old opium-besotted Lama in charge of the temple, but to see for ourselves the most precious relic the temple possesses. Our Lama friend was dining when we arrived and greeted me as an old acquaintance. He was evidently speaking the truth, for he proceeded to ask after my friend Mr. Gould, who had visited the 96 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA temple with me in 1904. And here I was privileged to see, handle, and photograph the stocking which is said to have been left in this temple by the great emperor, K’ang Hsi, when he visited there over two hundred years ago. The story goes that travelling incog., and riding a small donkey, the emperor passed through the wall at Leng K’ou, and stayed one night at this temple of Pai Niu Ts’un. Next morning, whether by design or forgetfulness, he left behind him a stocking, and there it is now, the priceless treasure of the old Lama in charge. Our friend the Lama was not at all comfortable when I first named the relic to him, and for a little time was very reluctant to produce it. But when I had reassured him that I had no evil designs upon it, he at length brought it forth, carefully unwrapped it, and then I saw what had once graced the foot of one of the best and wisest emperors old China has ever had. It proved to be a very large stocking; in appearance somewhat like a mandarin’s boot. The upper part from the ankle is brown embroidered and quilted satin, but the foot is the ordinary calico sock of the ordinary man. In two places it bore signs of burning, for it was clumsily repaired with two pieces of common blue calico. These faults were due to the fact that on one occasion at the temple fair it had accidently been set on fire by some incense sticks falling upon it during worship. Needless to say, very special honour now attaches to this stocking, the villagers standing round assuring me that it is only as a rule shown once a year at the temple fair, when thousands of pious Mongols come from all parts of the district to offer their incense oblations, kneel before it, and knock their heads to a stocking which, once worn by an emperor, now receives practically the homage due to a hero or a god. Having seen and handled the “ONTL HIHS VHO Vd FHL ONIGNAOSY SATAN-MOVa BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 97 relic, it was a comparatively easy task to persuade the old Lama to sit for his photograph, holding the stocking in his hand. Unfortunately, in my over-anxiety to obtain a good picture, I had too large a stop out, with the result that the “snap” is lacking somewhat in sharpness. Such as it is, however, it is here reproduced. The “holy stocking” of K’ang Hsi does not exhaust all the wonders of the Mongol temple of Pai Niu Ts’un. In front of the temple compound stands a very fine specimen of “huai shu” (locust-tree) with a magnificent trunk and wide-spreading branches. This tree is very common in North China; it has a very dainty blossom which is used in making dye, and the seeds are said to be acertain cure for hemorrhoids. Probably this latter fact has something to do with the superstition gathering round this fine specimen at Pai Niu Ts’un; for if any young child shows signs of physical weakness and is likely to be difficult to rear, he is taken to the tree, and acknowledges it, either personally or by proxy, as his mother. A strip of red paper affixed to the tree the day we were there stated that the son of one Chang Tzu Ngan (a Chinese) had so adopted the tree as his mother, while several bannerettes hung from the branches, tokens of gratitude from children who had benefited by the “maternal” care. And a young fellow standing by somewhat sternly and earnestly rebuked our unbelieving levity as he assured us that there was no possible doubt whatever as to the efficacy of the plan. From here onward to T’a Tzu Kou was for us untrodden ground, our previous course having led us due east from Pai Niu Ts’un to Ta Ch’eng Tzu. The clouds were hanging threateningly over us before we reached Tao Erh Teng, but as we were anxious to make a little longer stage, we did not stop. The “little longer” eventually lengthened into an extra 10 miles. 98 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA In all the villages we passed through there was not an inn large enough to accommodate us. We were not disposed to be hypercritical as to the cleanliness of a sleeping-place, yet we had to trudge on till we reached a wretched village called Wu Tao Ling (Fifth Road Pass). During the latter part of the march Marisami went so badly lame that I offered him my pony while I walked. But he was afraid of Hansl, and preferred the donkey. Further on, as the donkey was tired, a muleteer whom we had met the previous night in the inn where we had stayed, generously offered the use of his own riding-pony to Marisami, and in this way we reached Wu Tao Ling at 5.45. The accommodation we got there was unspeakable. The only decent room in the place was occupied by three professional gamblers, who did not feel themselves called upon to give place to a foreigner. I therefore had a sort of outhouse in the landlord’s private compound. Yuan Min stretched himself on the floor outside my door, the others making the best they could of themselves among a motley crowd in the public room across the way. During the afternoon we had passed over three small “ling,” measuring respectively 1,250, 1,300, and 1,500 feet. Breakfast next morning at Ch’a P’eng (Tea Booths), 6 miles from Wu Tao Ling, brought us to where a great road runs across the village leading west to Pakou, 40 miles, and east to Chin Chou Fu, 160 miles. We stopped at a small but fairly decent inn, where the wife of the innkeeper, a bright little woman with natural feet, was quite as good a man of business as her husband. Marisami was particularly pleased with his entertainment here, since his food bill was the cheapest he had had since leaving home. He had also a change of diet, trying some “chien ping” BEHIND THE HILLS ONCE MORE 99 (millet cake) and “tou fu” (bean curd), both at my suggestion, these by way of a special treat since he was not in extra good form. Opposite to the inn where we stayed there was a fine large inn. It was, however, closed up, and we learned that the reason for that was that the brigands two years before had carried the landlord away and held him to ransom for over a month. At the end of that time returning home, the poor fellow sickened and died, probably as much from chagrin and distress as from any ill- treatment he would receive at the hands of his captors. The road this day was practically level, the aneroid showing a difference of but 120 feet in 23 miles. The hills were much lower and the valleys more extended, while the broad cart-road on which we travelled offered impediments of no kind whatever. At Pei Lu (North Road) we got very comfortable quarters. A minor official from T’a Tzu Kou very courteously gave up his private room to me, and I had a palace compared with the place I had slept in the previous night. Marisami also seemed to have got over his lameness and indisposition, and, looking for- ward to the public baths, promised himself what he called “too much biling water” when he reached T’a Tzu Kou on the morrow. A fresh breeze blowing from the north all next day made us glad to have our hands muffled up, but the road was as easy as could be wished for, neither hills nor streams intercepting us. We did 7 miles and then stopped at Wa Fang Tien (Tiled House Inn), a small village with a mixture of Mongol and Chinese inhabitants. There I had a long chat with a Lama in charge of the village temple, who furnished me with a number of the common Mongol phrases. My lesson led the innkeeper to offer to supply me with an 100 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA interpreter for work further north, but it was as politely declined as made, since the “ts’ao ti” (grass- lands) dialect is in many respects different from the patois of the settled Mongols, and his language would probably not serve where our own Chinese would fail. At eleven o'clock we started out for the last bit of the road to T’a Tzu Kou, and found it a pleasant and easy road of 6 miles. The natives called it 8 miles, but our survey proved them wrong. As we went along we overtook a man carrying a peculiar- looking whip in his hand, and on examination I found it to be an ordinary whip-handle with a small iron chain 4 inches long and attached to that a heavy piece of brass 2 inches long. It was so remarkable a weapon that I asked him what he used it for. He replied that it was to beat the dogs with, but when I jokingly suggested that it was more probably used to act the highwayman with on dark nights and lonely roads, he was visibly alarmed and protested that he was but a poor collector of accounts, and that he carried this weapon of self-defence against the ferocious dogs of the villagers. We persuaded him to sell it to me, but he would only part with it on my promise that I did not intend to use it to get him into trouble in the city. Though assured on that point he never looked very comfortable and hung behind us the rest of the way to T’a Tzu Kou, only being compelled to pass us again when we took our last bearing just south of the gate. Certainly it is the most business-like dog-whip I have ever come across, but it has lived a quiet and uneventful life since it came into my possession, and neither dogs nor men have tasted its quality. CHAPTER VII IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY THIS being my second visit to Chien Ch’ang Hsien, I sent one of my men ahead to make arrangements for our stay at the mission chapel, where we were likely to be more free from curious sightseers than if we put up at an inn. We found, much to our surprise, that our arrival was anticipated, a missionary friend at Pakou having informed the Chinese preacher of our going, and also forwarded me an invitation to divert from our main route and pay him a visit at his town. But as he also informed me that the Chinese officials there had but recently turned back some Japanese surveyors from his district, I, not wishing to share a similar fate, decided to keep on the route already marked out, and head direct north after leaving T’a Tzu Kou. Moreover, so as not to attract undue attention from the suspicious authorities, I deemed it wise that Marisami should make no survey of the city itself, and that we should all content ourselves with a couple of days’ quiet rest. After a wash and meal, | paid a visit to the telegraph- office to send off a couple of messages, but found, though my wires were handed in at 2.30, they could not be sent off till after five o’clock. The reason for this was that all Government messages from Manchuria were being sent round that way, and the lines had to be kept Ior 102 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA open so that there should not be the least delay of the important messages between Peking and Mukden. It was an instructive sidelight upon the urgency and diffi- culty of the Manchurian position at that juncture, and upon the constant use of the telegraph in the transaction of Government business. I found also that in the interval between this and my former visit a branch post-office had been set up at T’a Tzu Kou, the messengers running to Ch’ao Yang Fu, and thence to the railway at Chin Chou. This meant the bringing of such places as Tientsin, Peking, and Newchuang into touch with these outer cities within a week, a great improvement upon the old time, when either no communication was possible without the hiring of a private messenger at considerable expense, or com- mitting letters to the precarious care of postal agencies. T’a Tzu Kou seemed as busy and prosperous as ever, but I had opportunity this time of a more thorough view of the city than had been possible on my former visit. Then almost all our time had been taken up with the incessant sale of our Scriptures and calendars, leaving us little time or energy for mere sightseeing. But this time I had the whole of Saturday to look round, while Sunday was spent with the Christians who gathered for worship. Yet my first essay proved a disappointment. Remem- bering the old inn-yard of James Gilmour, and the relic of the good man in the form of the Chinese characters on his gate-post (see Chapter III. p. 41), my first visit was paid to the old and, to me, sacred spot. I was bent on securing a good photograph of that gateway, former attempts both by Mr, Gould and myself having proved failures. But I had arrived just three weeks too late. For I found the old inn in process of undergoing repairs, and to my lasting regret the gate-posts had been pulled — ‘for td aony og, ‘NOM AZL VL ‘AVAL dO GOD OL WIdWAL IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 103 down, while a new room was being built on the site, and the last visible link of a saintly hero with that humble place had for ever passed. Yet better memories of James Gilmour than that old gate-post may be found in T’a Tzu Kou. A few, very few, strong and sturdy Christian men remain there, faithful amid the passing of the years to the gospel they first heard from his lips, and proud of their early association with the lonely apostle of the Mongols. From there we paid a visit to the Lao Yeh Miao (His Honour’s Temple), or, to give it its official name, Kuan Ti Miao (Temple to the God of War). This is a very fine structure just within the east gate, with two large courtyards and several halls where idols are stand- ing or seated in their grim and silent majesty. The temple is exceedingly well kept, most unusually clean and tidy, and must have been an expensive building to erect. Abutting on the street, at the main entrance, is a line of solid pillars all made of dressed granite, each pillar complete in one piece. And that is typical of all the workmanship and material in the building. There we found a company of twenty or more young lads chanting their lessons in musical discords, while the old Confucian teacher sat in severe dignity at his desk. It was an excellent manner in which to use one of the best rooms in the temple. It has already been stated that the business men of Jehol, T’a Tzu Kou, and these other cities, are, for the most part, Chinese from the provinces of Chihli, Shan- tung, and Shansi, there for a term of years in the attempt to make wealth sufficient to enable them to go home and live in dignified ease. These men are among the best elements in modern Chinese life, the vast majority of them being men of honour and probity, whose word is as good as their bond, and who, with but rare 104 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA exceptions, can be trusted to carry on their business with fidelity and success. In T’a Tzu Kou their numbers are so great that they are able to have each their own provincial guilds where they regularly meet for mutual counsel and fellowship, and maintain a close watch over the progress of trade in their locality. The Guildhall of the Shantung and Shansi men is in each case well worth a visit. I went to the former first, but finding that a large school had been organised there, and that lessons were just in progress, I denied myself the pleasure of entering for inspection. But the Shansi Guildhall, which I saw and photographed, is a very fine place. A wide and large courtyard leads up to an immense and elaborately decorated public hall standing at the back. To reach this hall you must pass under a magnificent “pai lou” (memorial arch) erected midway. Several sets of smaller rooms are built on either side of the compound, and in them at the time of my visit there were quartered a company of cavalry with their horses, part of the Yi Chun under the supreme command of General Ma Yi K’un. There is also a considerable Mahommedan population in such cities as T’a Tzu Kou and Hata, and here the principal mosque is a splendid building hidden away in a quiet street. External decorations are somewhat more lavish than tasteful, but the interior of the mosque, to enter which, of course, the visitor must remove his shoes from off his feet, is very quiet and plain. Some- how there is a simplicity and apparent reverence asso- ciated with Mahommedan mosques that is especially welcome in a land like China, where most things are loud and garish, and even the temples at times the opposite of restful. Usually also the priests in charge of the mosques are very friendly to the foreign visitor, claiming relationship on the ground of their religion, ‘tor ‘d aovy of, ‘NOM AZL ¥,.L LY andsow NVCANNOHVA IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 105 like ours, having reached China from the remote lands of the West. So here at T’a Tzu Kou we were received right loyally by the keeper of the mosque, and permitted to spend a couple of plates upon his beautiful building. Another fine temple is the Ts’ai Shen Miao (Temple to God of Wealth) which stands on the south street and, appropriately enough, in front of one of the busiest marts in the city. But the Kuei Hsing Lou (Polar Star loft), which regulates the destinies of the literati, and is usually erected on the city walls, has here to be content with a location on the small wall surrounding the “hsien” yamen. I paid no formal visit to the yamen, but went there to get a few pictures of the tribunal, gaol exterior, &c. Unfortunately they did not realise expectations, and are scarce worth reproduction. I heard a good deal of the mandarin in charge, however, and on all my visits into his district was gratified to find how highly he was spoken of on every hand. It is customary on one’s travels to make inquiries as to the government of the districts and of the men responsible for administration, and it is much to the credit of Hung Ta Lao Yeh that not once did I hear an unfavourable remark as to his personal conduct or criticism of his public work. In China, where privacy is conspicuous by its absence, and all the transactions of the yamen are public property, it is a practical impossibility for an official to conceal his real character for any length of time. Should he be given to peculation or injustice, his people have an apt and concise fashion of describing him as “yu tan hsin” (covetous) or “pu kung tao” (unjust). On the other hand, they are equally ready to give honour where honour is due, and a mandarin has lived to some good purpose in his little world when he is spoken of as “Pu li” (not amiss), “ch’ing kuan” (clean-handed 106 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA official), or “ Pu hsiang ch’ien” (he does not care for money). These were the popular terms used to describe Mr. Hung, and though I never saw the man, I some- times wondered whether he should not be told of the Scriptural warning, “ Woe unto thee when all men speak well of thee.” Among other good things accomplished under his régime must be reckoned his organisation of the modern schools in harmony with the orders of the Central Government. He had not only received the edict directing that steps be taken to raise from temple lands especially funds sufficient for the equipment and sus- tenance of schools on the new lines, but had got everything in working order, buildings, students, books, &c.—everything, in fact, necessary for school work save —teachers! We had the opportunity of visiting the new schools and were shown all round them by the proctor in charge, a young and wide-awake “ Chi- jen” (M.A.) named Li. A large compound with several courtyards had been secured on the south-east street : the rooms had been altered to meet the new needs: and the entire block of buildings comprised eight sets of class-rooms, dormitories, and dining-rooms, all in first- class condition, and wonderfully tidy and clean. There were 160 students, varying in age from 14 to 40, proving that while Chien Ch’ang Hsien may be a long way from the centre of things in China, yet there was a desire for the new learning which was to fit for scholarly diploma and official service. The curriculum had been prepared and embraced English, arithmetic, geography, and kindred elementary subjects intended to cover four years, whence the students were to be drafted first to Jehol and then to either Tientsin or Pao Ting Fu, for the prosecution of the higher studies. And yet, though everything was in order, thanks to the ‘AON AZL VL LY GXAOdKOS GTIND ISNVHS NI HOUV TVINONAN IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 107 diligence of the official and his subordinates, the foreign section of the scholastic work had never begun. There were no teachers who could do anything but instruct the students in the old-fashioned Chinese subjects— the memorising of the classics, the writing of an essay in approved style, &c. And so there was in T’a Tzu Kou what would be impossible save in this empire of anomalies and incongruities, namely, a_ suite of splendid buildings adapted to the new methods, an assembly of smart and teachable students eager to imbibe the new knowledge, an organisation for funds that bore hardly on no one save perhaps the idle priests of the wealthy temples, an earnest and reforming magistrate anxious to bring his district into line with the best and most progressive centres within the wall, yet hampered at the very beginning of real work by a lack of suitable men to do what the organisation had been called into being to do. This condition of things gives rise to serious reflec- tions. Has there been sufficient consideration given to the real problem that faces education on modern lines in China? It is not enough for the men in high positions in the land to make fresh suggestions to the throne; nor is it enough for the ruler of the empire to abolish the old style of learning at the moment of establishing the new. One stroke of the vermilion pencil, with which the word “Chun” (granted) is written, is merely one little point of the long journey on which China has entered. All the real work of the enterprise has to follow that. And as well might you set men the impossible task of the ancient Israelites of making bricks without straw, as expect the lower officials of the Empire, especially those in places remote from the capital, to at once organise and establish schools of the new learning when there are no teachers 108 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA to be found who can do the work. The first need in China is for well-trained men, who possess not merely the ability necessary to teach the fundamentals, but character enough to quicken and guide the students in their moral and intellectual development. And until such men can be provided, all this business of getting and spending is a waste of power, besides begetting the possibility of covering the whole enterprise with ridicule and contempt. It is not so easy to say where such teachers are to come from; but it would not be amiss if the high Chinese authorities should rise above the misguided policy of recent years and remove the embargo on the employment of competent foreign instructors, at least until they have themselves trained their own men to do the work. If in the old days it was thought necessary to have foreign drill-instructors for military purposes, equally, if not more necessary, is it that they should be employed for the higher tasks of education. But the inane attitude assumed within the last few years will react most harmfully on the Chinese themselves, and their blind unreasoning devotion, based on ignorance of conditions, and prejudice against the foreigner, will simply have the effect of cramping their possibilities, limiting their outlook and thwarting their highest purposes. Amongst the most interesting experiences of my stay at T’a Tzu Kou was the opportunity the busy town affords of preaching in the evenings. During the day the people all seem too intent upon their several avo- cations to listen for any length of time or with ordinary patience to the gospel story. But each evening for over two hours you have an opportunity all too rare within the wall. The mission chapel is centrally situated, and with doors flung open and lamps well lighted a crowd is easy both to secure and hold. Especially is IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 109 this the case when amongst the preachers there happens to be a foreigner. The Chinese never overcome their amazement at the foreigner’s ability to speak their language. They will listen by the hour together, in this being much more patient than the average foreign congregation ; are quick to catch every humorous or local allusion, and to appreciate any well-put point. And at T’a Tzu Kou at least our experience was that for the most part not a man would move till the watch- man passed on his second round, and the clanging of his gong announced that the curfew hour had come. This was generally towards 9 p.m., and at once they would leave, many loudly declaring their intention of returning the next evening. In just such simple ways as these, in hundreds of towns and cities in China, the Christian gospel is being regularly proclaimed, and by the gradual attraction of men one by one a Christian community is being surely if slowly built up. Our association with the Christians of T’a Tzu Kou was very refreshing and enjoyable. It is no reflection on men who have worked there in recent years to suggest that amongst the best of the people there are the few stalwarts of James Gilmour’s day. The preacher, by name Chang Fu Ling, was a quiet and devoted man, not at all possessed of brilliant powers, but so far as I could see a man intensely loyal to his Lord and his trust, who did what he could in a simple and unobtrusive way to make the new truth known and accepted. His chief supporter was a big 6-foot fellow named Yang Pao, who was one of the first men baptized by James Gilmour nearly twenty years ago, and who has for many years rendered efficient service as chapel-keeper and assistant preacher. Just before I left them an old Christian who had been most diligent in his attendance modestly stepped up to me and asked if I could tell him 110 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA anything of Mr. Gilmour’s sons. The old fellow had known the boys almost as infants, and through the lapse of the years had retained the interest of the friend with the hopes of the subordinate, in the welfare of the sons of the man who had taught him the truth of God and Christ. It is an easy matter to criticise the methods of missionaries, easier still to sneer at the value of the humble work that is being done in China to-day. But that man would simply advertise himself a perverse and ignorant opponent who could see the operations of Christian truth as we are permitted to see them, and then lightly declare the work as of no permanent worth or virtue. The Christians were manifestly alarmed at our deter- mination to go further north into the brigand zone, and doubtless wondered in their hearts what it is that prompts the foreigner to such wild displays of energy. The Chinese in their common proverb exactly hit off the general feeling with respect to all such journeys, “Tsai chia ch’ien jih hao, ch’u wai shih shih nan” (At home a thousand days are good, on a journey everything is difficult). It was on their own suggestion, therefore, that before we went forward at six o'clock on the Monday morning we all gathered together for morning prayers, and were fervently commended to the Divine care by the preacher. They also all accompanied us outside the north gate of the city, and with sundry handshakes in orthodox Chinese fashion every man cordially wished us “ Yi lu p’ing an” (Peace by the way), and we had turned our backs on the last of our friends and faced the (for us) unknown districts of the wild north. The first thing noticed outside the city was a fairly large-sized temple standing on the west side of the road, which rejoiced in the name of “ Kuei Wang Maio” CHINESE CHRISTIANS AT T’A TZU KOU. IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 111 (Devil-King Temple). Temples in plenty are to be found in China, erected in honour of the patron gods of medicine, literature, war, &c., &c., but this is absolutely the first and only time in all my wanderings that I have seen a temple dedicated to his satanic majesty. Is it that he has particular force and energy in those wild districts, and requires to be specially propitiated in this way? Perhaps we shall learn more as we go further forward. Meanwhile we can leave the devil-king to his temple in peace. The road to Je Shui T’ang was a very light and pleasant one. Indeed, throughout the day, though our general altitude was some few hundred feet higher than south of T’a Tzu Kou, the road was much more easy. The character of the landscape was also very different. In place of the rugged peaks towering over us we travelled now through a rich agricultural valley with sweeps of from 1 to 2 miles wide, and with perhaps some of the finest arable land that could be desired. The hills were distant and low-rolling, easy slopes that in the summer-time after the rains and in the autumn when the crops are ripening must make a radiant picture, and it is not surprising that, generally speaking, in all the 120 miles from T’a Tzu Kou to Hata and beyond northward, as also in most of the territory from Jehol to Chin Chou Fu, the bulk of the grain is grown which sustains the millions of people on the Chihli and Shantung plains. We reached in some few cases to a height of 1,900 and 2,000 feet as we went along, but were only once conscious of anything that could be dignified by the name of a pass. This was when, 8 li beyond Je Shui T’ang, we passed into the Pakou district at a little village named T’ai P’ing Chuang (Village of Great Peace), and had a mile or more of rough road. There was also very little variation in our direction that day, for while at T’a Tzu Kou itself 112 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the prismatic reading was 343 degrees, at Mang Niu Ying Tzu, 64 li or 21 miles away, at night the reading was 341 degrees. Twice during the day we diverted slightly east by north, only to turn round again and be heading at night in exactly the same direction as from T’a Tzu Kou. Flowing to the south past the Devil King Temple already mentioned is a small tributary that joins itself to the stream which eventually unites with the Hsiao Ling Ho at Ta Ch’eng Tzu (see Chapter III.), and just there for a few li the stream spreads itself out con- siderably. But it soon leaves the main road and diverts eastward. Here, too, we found that our tentative map was slightly in error. This map showed a small stream called the Tso Lao Ho (Left Old River), flowing north into the Lao Ho itself. But nowhere in that region could we find any stream of that name. All the people disclaimed knowledge of it, but not a mile beyond Mang Niu Ying Tzu we came on a little brook rising amid the hills at Kou Ch’iu Ling Tzu, and named Lao Ho Cha (Old River Fork), which unites with the main river at Pao Ku Lu. Such errors, however, are very slight, and most of them have been rectified in recent years, the admirable surveys within and without the wall, conducted first under Colonel Wingate and later under Major Davies, resulting in one of the most thorough and accurate maps in existence. Just outside T’a Tzu Kou that morning we had a stroke of good luck in overtaking a Lama on pilgrimage, a man about forty-five with a simple, childlike face, his worldly possessions strapped on his back, and his staff in his hand. Such a chance of a typical picture of that kind being all too rare even in this land of Lamas, I persuaded him to let me “snap” him. But the light at 6 a.m. was scarcely strong enough for an altogether satisfactory picture. Quite evidently too I BATH-HOUSES AT JE SHUI T’ANG. (Marisami and Yuan Min standing up.) To face p. 113. IN THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 113 scared him, for I had no sooner got my “snap” than he turned off another way, on the plea that he could not keep pace with us, and had better travel alone on a by-path. By 10.15 we had reached the village of Je Shui T’ang (Hot Water Baths), a wretchedly poor and dilapidated Mongol settlement, yet rejoicing in the possession of potential wealth in the natural springs there. The houses are small and mean, and not many of them even then, scattered about in a sort of semicircular valley, in the midst of which the springs of hot water are ever bubbling up. In all there are ten or twelve of these springs, over which small huts have been erected, and in the huts are baths 5 feet long and 3 or 4 feet deep. Two of the huts are reserved for the better class of bathers, for at the doors are hung dirty curtains, so screening off the bathers from public view. Outside one of these squatted a dirty, grinning old Lama, holding a gourd in his hand. That gourd is his collec- tion-box, and the “quality” who enter either of these two special huts are expected to contribute to the sup- port of their poorer brethren who watch over the virtues of the baths. The remaining huts have neither doors nor curtains, but these defects make no difference to the numbers who disport themselves in the warm water to their heart’s content. The springs are very much patronised, and in the humble homes of the villagers, as in the two inns of the place, lodgings, mostly of the cheap and nasty order, can be obtained by the visitors to the “Spa.” I did not myself indulge, though when I felt the temperature of the water and saw how there is ever a fresh supply springing up, I was very much tempted. Yuan Min enjoyed himself for some ten minutes there, and was the fresher for his afternoon march. We saw several 9 114 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA of the visitors at their baths, and others coming and going. The Mongol women are said to use the springs to a great extent. Later on, when we got among their unwashed sisters of the grass-lands, I was tempted to wish that there were a Je Shui T’ang in every Mongol settlement. It would soon change the face of Nature and the venue of some of Nature’s smallest insects. While we were at the baths we saw some Mongol maidens leaving the curtained huts. They had their heads carefully wrapped up to avoid the cold after the boiling they had had inside, and one saucy lass looked quite fascinating with a dog-skin rolled round her head, but not hiding her merry face. In all probability the dog-skin did duty as a sleeping-rug at night and served as a head-covering by day. The springs have a wide reputation for their medicinal virtues in all cases of rheumatism, sciatica, and kindred complaints ; people come from all parts of the district and spend a week, a month, or even longer as the case may be. We met in our inn an old Lama abbot, with his young disciple attending upon him. The old man had gone over 80 miles to take a course of the waters, and the bright-faced laddie with him was indulg- ing in the luxury of a daily bath. Not only for the treatment of disease, but in the washing of clothes are the springs useful ; for as the water trickles away over the stones, which are all bleached quite white, the women and girls of the village seize the opportunity to do all their household washing without the trouble of heating the water. Were Je Shui T’ang only more accessible to the world, one can imagine how readily it would be exploited. Perhaps when the railway materialises the obscure settlement will become more widely known, and the days to come may witness an extra-mural Harrogate or a Mongol Marienbad. THE GLORIOUSLY FOUNDED CITY 115 We finished our tramp that day at Mang Niu Ying Tzu (Bull Camp) and found quarters in a Mahommedan inn, where the landlord welcomed us not as strangers but brothers, on the principle that his forbears, like ours, came from the West. Before we reached there in the distance we had seen from the top of a high hill called “Wang Pa Shan” (Tortoise, or Shameless Hill) the topmost turrets of a lofty pagoda, which shows up boldly on the sky-line. That was the T’ai Ming T’a (Famous Pagoda), but of it we must speak in the next chapter. CHAPTER VIII THE T’AI MING T’A, OR THE PAGODA OF THE GREAT NAME WE had reached our lodging at Mang Niu Ying Tzu none too soon, for a dust-storm came down in about half an hour and blotted out most of the landscape. Mean and wretched in the extreme though our shelter was, it was still better than being on the road in such clouds of driving and whirling sand, and we felt disposed to agree with our hospitable landlord when he suggested that if it should be blowing like that on the morrow we had better decide to remain where we were. Next morning, however, the storm had spent itself and the sun shone out clear and bright. It was May Day, and the world opened in harmony with the popular notions of the day. We lost no time in making ready for the road, determined to join the merry crowds that were on their way to the fair. For our arrival at Mang Niu Ying Tzu turned out to be most opportune for seeing the famous pagoda. Once every year in the fourth month the largest fair of all the wide region outside the wall is held at the T’ai Ming T’a. There may be bought almost anything that an ordinary household requires for its daily use. Horses, cattle, and sheep, carts or wheelbarrows, clothing, shoes, hats, nails, locks, bolts, &c., all the thousand and one things that 116 THE TAI MING TA 117 may be imagined would be useful to a diligent and fairly prosperous people, are then on sale. From all points of the compass and from great distances do the people travel to this fair; for in addition to the multitudinous stalls which display their tempting wares there are at least two open-air theatrical troupes, sundry booths where gambling is common, and, to crown all, the annual visit to the lovely pagoda that proudly rears its head from the midst of the plain. And this fair is made the means of the finest harvest of the year for the Lamas. The distance from Mang Niu Ying Tzu to T’ai Ming T’a is an easy ro miles, and it would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast in the country than this as compared with the districts south of T’a Tzu Kou. Here are no scarred mountain-peaks at times piercing the clouds; no difficult passes to tire the limbs and catch the breath; no narrow valleys to shut you in as in a prison: not even rough river-beds where stones and boulders obstruct your going. Instead there is a rich agricultural plain with broad sweeps from 2 to 3 miles wide; and such magnificent stretches of land under the plough that it is positive pleasure for the eyes to behold it. The hills lie in the distance, behind us rather than before, and all the fair land smiles with promise for the farmer. In the 10 miles we passed only six villages, five of which are inhabited entirely by Mongols, and we were in what is popularly known as the Sha T’o Kuo (Kingdom of Sand-hills), which extends right up beyond where we were to travel, and has been known by this name for many centuries. Here the name is somewhat of a misnomer, but further up, in regions that we shall meet by and by, there never was a more appropriate name given to a district in any country. 118 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA In this region it is only round the villages that any trees are to be seen. This means that there is abso- lutely nothing to interfere with the cultivation of the fine land, and we were not surprised to learn that, from the native point of view, the people in these parts are reputed to be very wealthy. But at the time of my visit the most remunerative, and therefore the most common, crop was opium, and on every hand we saw men carefully tending and irrigating the plants, lest the long-continued drought should mean failure. At the time I passed through the district I could not help but question in my mind the bond-fides of the Chinese outcry against the importation of opium from India. With the hundreds of acres of splendid land absolutely devoted to the cultivation of the poppy that came under my observation, it was difficult to believe in the sincerity of China’s professions respecting the prohibition of the drug. There seemed something in the suspicion that the outcry against Indian opium was merely a pretext for securing the monopoly for the Chinese production, since it was not only in one but in most provinces that unlimited cultivation went on. But it was during my absence in the wilds that the Imperial Edict against the smoking and cultivation of opium was issued, and for this, as we have since learned, the credit is due to H.E. T’ang Shao Yi. Now the latest reports are that in this region not a single acre of land is devoted to the poppy. Where the seed has been planted it has been rooted up and destroyed, and whatever else of supineness or indifference may be charged against China on this question—not merely economical but moral—she is showing a diligence and an earnestness that cannot be too highly praised. And in any case, it is well for the good name of Great Britain in China that her interest in the trade should come THE TAI MING TA 119 to an end as early as possible. Recent events show a great advance in the attitude of the foreign Govern- ments towards this question that argues well for the future of China, and all true friends of the Celestial Empire hope that the day of her liberation from the slavery of the drug is at hand. There was no need for us to inquire our way on this morning. Not only was the beautiful pagoda, gleaming white in the sunshine, there to beckon us forward, but we were travelling in the midst of a merry throng of men and maidens, Mongol and Mantzu (the common name for the Chinese in these regions), toddling laddies and little children, all on their way to the fair, on foot, on donkeys, mules, or ponies, and in carts. It was a gay scene, especially with the women-folks in their finest, gaily-coloured clothing, out for one of the most exciting holidays that the round of the year brings into their dull, prosaic lives. At Kou Ch’iu we came upon the little brook already mentioned, the Lao Ho Cha, but while it flowed north- ward to join the Lao Ho at Pao Ku Lu, we crossed towards the west through a Mongol settlement named San Chia (Three Homes), then through Hung Miao Tzu (Red Temple), and just before reaching Meng Chia Wo Pu (Meng Family Shed) we came for the first time upon the river we had set out to survey, and which we were to follow almost every day for nearly a month. At this point we forded the river. The water was very shallow, only a few inches deep, and not more than so feet wide (though the bed was of course much wider), and it was interesting to see how, without hesitation, men, women and children sat down in the sand, took off their shoes and stockings and then waded across. I must plead guilty to a breach of good manners 120 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA here, for when a couple of bonnie lasses who had been tramping along near us rolled up their trousers and showed their shapely legs, the temptation to have a “snap” at them with the camera was too great to resist. But my bad manners were badly punished. Neither picture is good enough for reproduction. Realising that it would be impossible for us to secure accommodation at any of the ordinary inns near the pagoda, I had sent Shu Feng, my servant, on ahead, to look us out some quarters and make the best arrange- ments possible for our spending the full day at the fair, and remaining over one night. We kept quietly forward, making not for the fair-ground, but for the pagoda which stood alone in what appeared to be waste ground over a quarter of a mile from the fair. As we got nearer we were surprised to see in front of us an extensive mud rampart, beyond which the pagoda stood, and as this proved to be the outer wall of the ancient T’ai Ming Ch’eng (Famous City), this seems the most appropriate point to turn aside from our own experiences and relate what I learned of fact and legend respecting this famous city and its still more famous pagoda. Let it be premised that what follows here was gleaned on the spot, the day I visited the place, and is set down, not as authentic history, but as local tradition, which not unnaturally is likely to partake in some measure of exaggeration. All accounts agree in ascribing the foundation of the T’ai Ming Ch’eng to the time of the Wu Tai Ch’ao (Five Posterior Dynasties), which lasted in a time of turmoil and ferment from A.D. 907 to 960. These five short-lived and insignificant dynasties followed im- mediately on the great T’ang dynasty, which had flourished for a period of 289 years, i.e., from 618 to go7, and had given to the Empire twenty-one sovereigns. THE T’AI MING TA 121 These five dynasties were named respectively After Liang, After T’ang, After Chin, After Han, and After Chou, the last of them all being eventually overthrown in 960, when the Sung dynasty was set up and retained possession of the Empire till 1127. In the later days of the T’ang dynasty, when the house was tottering to its fall, there had arisen a renowned and intrepid general who originally hailed from the district of Lake Balkash in Siberia, and had rendered signal service to his emperor in a time of great need. Reference is made to this man in Mayers’ “ Chinese Reader’s Manual” in the following terms :— “Li K’eh Yung, died a.D. 908. A renowned com- smander of the later years of the T’ang dynasty. His father was a chieftain of the Sha T’o tribe, a branch of the T’u Kueh, occupying a region near Lake Balkash, who was originally named Chu Yeh Ch’ith Hsin, and who in A.D. 847 took military service with the Chinese, and aided in repelling an invasion of the T’u Fan (Tibetans), In A.D. 869 the Emperor I Tsung rewarded his services by bestowing upon this foreign auxiliary the surname borne by the Imperial family itself, viz., Li, to which he added the cognomen Kuo Ch’ang. Although at a later period engaged in a revolt, Li Kuo Ch’ang and his son were the foremost defenders of the house of T'ang in its gathering troubles, and the latter rendered valiant service in suppressing the rebellion of Huang Ch’ao (a disappointed member of the literati who re- volted and proclaimed himself emperor). For these he was ennobled as Chin Wang. He excelled in archery, an art which he had practised in his youth among the fearless huntsmen of his native wilds, and marvellous tales are related of his skill. Having lost the sight of one eye, he became known as the One-eyed Dragon.” Professor Giles, in his “ Biographical Dictionary,” for 122 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the most part agrees with Mayers, save that he makes Li K’e Yung himself, and not his father Chu Yeh, to be the individual upon whom the Imperial surname was con- ferred. Each agrees that he died in A.D. 908, but Giles adds the important note that “in 907 he set up the independent state of Chin in Shansi, with his capital at the modern T’ai Yuan Fu, and adopted T’ien Yu (Heavenly Protection, used by the last T’ang emperor) as his year title.” Dr. Faber, in his useful “ Chronological Handbook of the History of China,” also makes references to Li K’e Yung, mentioning specially his services in the rebellion of Huang Ch’ao, when he went to the help of the emperor with an army of forty thousand soldiers, nick- named the Black Crows, from the uniform they wore. So far the records agree. But at T’ai Ming Ch’eng itself there persist several traditions concerning this man Li K’e Yung and his not-less-famous son Li Tsun Hsi, which are full of interest, particularly so far as his relation to the pagoda goes. Here it is stated that Li K’e Yung was a native of Pien Liang (the modern K’ai Feng Fu in Honan) who served the T’ang dynasty well in its later years, but in the time of the dynasty known as the Hou Liang Chi (After Liang), in a fit of drunken fury killed some high official in the Imperial service. He was said to be a man of very violent temper, and much given to over-indulgence in drink. For this murder of a brother official he was instantly seized and thrown into prison, his life being declared forfeit by the emperor himself. The time for his execution was drawing near when a friend, also in high office, so assisted him that he was enabled to escape and put himself beyond the reach of his emperor’s displeasure. This friend was named Ch’en Ching Ssu, and with him Li K’e Yung had contracted the lifelong bond of friendship known and practised to THE TAI MING TA 123 this day as “meng-hsiung-ti” (sworn brotherhood). This is a very simple and common method of fidelity between friends, and is binding on the principals throughout the whole of their lives, and may even be continued through many generations. It is brought about by a mutual “k’e t’ou” (or kowtow, as it is now called in the West); the two men kneeling down before each other, knocking their heads three times on the ground, rising up and then making the customary official salutation by dropping the right hand and bend- ing the right knee. This is the simple act that makes men friends for life, and it is significant of the Chinese character that such a bond will endure all tests and rise superior in some cases to the claims of flesh and blood. Li K’e Yung, escaped from prison, fled to the Sha T’o Kuo, the district where I found so many memories of him on my visit. Here he found no fewer than forty- eight petty Mongol princes classed under the above generic name as forming one large kingdom, and set about subduing the princes and their clans to himself. Gathering round him an immense army of his own satellites, his former position as a leading general making this easy of accomplishment, he openly declared himself a rebel to the emperor he had so lately served and dis- pleased. Gradually his power rose, until he was able to declare himself supreme ruler of all the broad domains of the Sha T’o Kuo, and assumed the kingly title of Chin Wang (Prince of Chin). It is by this name he is now generally spoken of, and its assumption agrees both with Mayers’ and Giles’ statements, the former declaring he was ennobled as Chin Wang, the latter that he set up the independent state of Chin in Shansi. Faber also points out that he was in active rebellion against the royal power, for in 890 an attempt was made to humble him, but, proving futile, the matter ended in Li’s full 124 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA restoration to all honours. It is remarkable how won- derfully the different records thus agree with popular traditions, all combining to show that Li K’e Yung had made himself a force to be reckoned with, and an enemy to be feared. Continuing his ambitious policy as Prince of Chin, he built the Famous City of which we saw the remains, girdling it with a mud rampart to li (3 miles) long on each of its four sides, and which in its ruin may be walked upon to this day. He imitated the oriental magnificence of the kings of T’ang, and formed within the walls of what he called the T’ai Ming Ch’eng no fewer than twelve separate cities, somewhat after the style of Peking to-day. His name and fame spread far and wide. He sent his troops to threaten and harass the emperor from whose court he had fled in disgrace until at length, fearing that the rebellion would lead to the loss of his throne and kingdom, the emperor felt it prudent to send an embassy of peace to him in the person of his own sworn brother and leal friend Ch’en Ching Ssu. Even so, the pretensions and arrogance of the man grew. His early bonds of course made Ch’en Ching Ssu abso- lutely safe in his hands, but he would listen to neither arguments nor appeals, and, emboldened by his success and the fact that he had inspired such fear in the ranks of the Imperialists, he declared his intention of fighting the emperor to the death, and taking the kingdom for himself. Ch’en Ching Ssu, torn between his loyalty to his emperor and his fidelity to his friend, was by this time so much exercised over the affair that it is said his hair and beard. turned white in a single night. His mission was in danger of proving fruitless, when a fayourite daughter of Li Chin Wang, pitying the con- dition to which her father’s friend had been reduced, added her pleas to his, that her father should make peace THE TAI MING TA 125: with the emperor and content himself with the overlord- ship of the Sha T’o Kuo. Strong, stern man though he was, Li Chin Wang was not proof against the pleadings of his own daughter, and in the end Ch’en Ching Ssu, with whitened hair but heart at rest, returned to his emperor to report the complete success of his mission. Whatever the terms of the compact now made between the Chinese emperor and Li Chin Wang, it left the latter in undisputed possession of the region he had appro- priated to himself, and the simple Mongols who inhabited the land found out to their cost year by year the power of the man who ruled over them. His exactions and tyranny were of the most terrifying kind, and many and various were the expedients resorted to to pacify and please the one-eyed dragon. One evidence of that still remains in every quarter of the Sha T’o Kuo in the form of huge piles of stones reared up at intervals on the road- side, somewhat resembling the old cairns of the ancient Gaelic country. There are always thirteen of these heaps laid up in a line; the centre one some Io feet high and correspondingly wide, the other twelve (six on the either side) being very much smaller than that in the centre, but themselves all of uniform size. Tradition associates these with the mighty tyrant of one thousand years ago, Li Chin Wang. It seems that he had in all thirteen sons, known then and now as the “Shih San T’ai Pao” (Thirteen Princes). Of these the eldest was an adopted son, his local name being Li Ch’un Hsiao. This youth was conspicuous not only for bravery and intrepidity equal to that of his father, but also for a spirit of oppression and tyranny not less fierce. He is known to history as Li Tsun Hsi, or Li Ya Tzu, and Professor Giles in his “ Biographical Dictionary” has the following reference to him :— “Li Tsun Hst, Died a.D. 925. Son of Li K’e Yung, 126 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA whom he aided in suppressing the rebellion of Huang Ch’ao, and second ruler of the Chin state. After the fall of the T’ang dynasty, he overthrew the later Liang dynasty, and in 923 set himself up as first emperor of the later T’ang dynasty with his capital at Lo Yang (modern Honan Fu). A brave leader, it was said of him by Chu Wen as he broke through a double entrenchment of the Liangs, ‘With a son like this, K’e Yung does not die.’ But he soon gave himself up to sensuality and was assassinated by an actor upon whom he had conferred a high post. During his reign, modern Shensi and Ssu Ch’uan were added to his territory: on the other hand, the Kitan chief who had proclaimed himself Emperor in 907 obtained possession of a great part of Shansi and Chihli. He was canonised as Chuang Tsung.” Mayers and Faber both agree in this, in which they are followed by Boulger in his short History of China. In the Sha T’o Kuo, where Li Chin Wang and his wild young son were supreme, the Mongols devised a method of currying favour with them by the building up of these piles of stones that are still to be everywhere seen. At distances of from 3 to 4 li, always pointing in the direction of the T’ai Ming Cheng, these stone heaps were erected. They are called to this day the “Shih San T’ai Pao,” in honour of the thirteen princes. The central and largest heap designates Li Tsun Hsiiy, the oldest son, the smaller ones honouring the other lads. To these cairns in the olden time regular worship was paid by the Mongols in token of their fealty, and so strong are the traditions of ignorance and superstition that now, one thousand years since Li Chin Wang and his precious son went to their account, the ancient cult is still preserved. In all parts of the Sha T’o Kuo these heaps are found. In the hilly regions where stones abound they are as in the photograph here reproduced. Where there are THE TAI MING TA 127 not sufficient stones the cairns are made of timbers. While up in the grass-lands, where stones are not and trees are scarce, they are made of common earth. At Wa Pu a month later, over 200 miles from the T’ai Ming Ch’eng, I visited one set of these shrines, and carried away a miniature facsimile of the largest heap, made of sun-baked mud. But whether stones, timbers, or soil, the heaps are among the most conspicuous features of the landscape, frequently built in prominent positions on the highest hills or on rising ground. And each year, on the fifteenth day of the seventh moon, the Mongols honour these heaps as their fathers did one thousand years ago. Early in the morning of that day groups of mounted Mongols gather round the cairns: at a signal from the master of the ceremonies, usually a leading Lama or an influential official, every man, woman, and child on horseback gallops round the “thirteen princes” at a mad pace several times in succession: others burn incense sticks and paper before them, while all knock their heads on the ground in orthodox style. The close of the festival, and the most sensible part of it from a Western point of view, is in the inevitable feast of mutton, without which nothing would be complete to the Mongols. This ceremony is known to the Mongols as “Ao Pao.” The exact meaning of these two words I could not learn, but they may be freely rendered as signifying “honouring the princes.” Very naturally, I made inquiries in several places as to the reason for the continued observance of this practice, now that Li Chin Wang has perished and with him all fear of further oppression. In every case the answer was the answer you get everywhere in China for all idolatrous and most incomprehensible ceremonies, ‘Our fathers did it and we must follow them.” To Li Chin Wang it is likely that credit for building 128 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the most magnificent pagoda of North China is due. Local traditions are not so certain of this as of his build- ing of the city, but the identity of name and time would seem to suggest him as the probable builder. Standing within the walls of what was once the inner city, and Li Chin Wang himself flourishing in the time of the T’ang dynasty when most of the pagodas of China were erected, all the probabilities point to him. And it does him great credit too. It is an excellent piece of work, in splendid condition still, though it has stood there over a thousand years, and from appearance looks as if it would standa thousand more. The natives estimate it at 64 chang —that is, 640 feet—but that is certainly a great exaggera- tion. It is octagonal in shape, and one of my men measured its girth for me, and found at its base each face was 44 chang, or 45 feet, making the entire girth to be 360 feet. There is no entrance into the pagoda, but just above the stone basement, some 20 feet above the little hillock on which the pagoda is built, there are beautifully gilded images of the Buddha encircling the erection, and the whole picture, with the morning sun lighting up the impassive features of the Master, is worth travelling a long way to see. It is somewhat remarkable, in view of what we have already learned of Li Chin Wang’s thirteen sons, that above the images of the Buddha there rise thirteen tiers or storeys of what are apparently separate floors. These are coloured white and look remarkably clean, while surmounting all is the customary dome- shaped top of the Eastern dagobas. The first of the prints here reproduced is from a photograph taken at a distance of 1 li, or one-third of a mile, while the second, showing particularly the Buddha images, was only secured with great difficulty in the midst of a pushing and perspiring crowd. A few li further away are two other unfinished THE T’AI MING T’A, OR FAMOUS PAGODA. THE TAI MING TA 129 pagodas, called by the natives “Pan Chieh T’a” (Half-built Pagodas). These are said also to date back to the time of the T’ai Ming T’a, but the reason for their non-completion we could not learn. West of the city it is said the burial-ground of Li Chin Wang may be seen. For what seemed wise and justifiable reasons at the time I did not visit the tombs. Now my neglect is one of the vain regrets of my trip. The traditions of the district concerning Li Chin Wang and his prowess take on a good many forms in a land of superabundant credulity such as_ this. Not only have they wonderful tales to tell of his powers with the bow and arrow, but highly coloured stories of his genius as a general, his ability as a statesman, his terrors as a ruler, to say nothing of his love for the wine-cup, can be poured out by the yard to any one willing to listen. These tales have of course grown more wonderful with the lapse of years, and the marvels of Li Chin Wang are made familiar to the credulous people largely by the “ch’ang ying” (shadow-shows) which beguile the long hours of the Chinese winter evenings. Before leaving him it may be well to point out that the principal points of difference between the popular traditions as I learned them and the foreign annotators of Chinese history, Messrs Mayers and Giles, respects in both cases the year of his death and, in regard to Professor Giles, the location of his capital. These worthy sinologues both give A.D. 908 as the year in which Li Chin Wang died—that is, one year after the T’ang dynasty had ceased to exist. Yet the Kang Chien (Historical Records) speak of him as active in the time of the Hou Liang Chi. This accords with the popular tradition on the spot, where he is always spoken of as living in the After Liang dynasty. 10 130 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Professor Giles also fixes his capital at T’ai Yuan Fu in Shansi; and while I am not so bold as to set my peripatetic investigations against the erudition of a Giles, the evidential associations of Li Chin Wang with the Sha T’o Kuo and the T’ai Ming Ch’eng are two numerous and forceful to be set aside entirely. That the city was built by Li K’e Yung as a capital for himself is the undoubted tradition of the whole dis- trict; and while his own son, Li Tsun Hsii, when he assumed the purple of the later T’ang dynasty, set up his capital at Lo Yang (Honan Fu), it seems indis- putable that Li Chin Wang himself ruled and died in this once famous and now destroyed city in the kingdom of Sand Hills. The story of its destruction is eloquent of the in- genuity of a woman who wanted her own way, and as I sat and listened to the old “hsien sheng” (tutor) of the wealthy home where I was entertained, I reflected upon the fact that difference of race is but superficial after all. Women are women the wide world over and in all times alike. The tale takes us back to the time when the monk Chu Yuan Cheng, having overthrown the Mongol Yuan dynasty, ascended the throne as Hung Wu, the first emperor of the Ming dynasty, in the year 1368. Among his most loyal supporters was one Chien Wen, a native of Nanking, who, having rendered great service in the time of civil war which ended in the fall of the Yuan dynasty, expressed a desire to retire from office and return to his ancestral home near the southern capital. His elder brother was then in resi- dence at T’ai Ming Ch’eng, having been appointed governor of the region by the new emperor, the district being then, as in the time of the Mongol emperors, incorporated in the Chinese Empire. Chien Wen was THE TAI MING TA 131 desirous that his brother should join him in retirement, and went to T’ai Ming Ch’eng to persuade him to that end. But the governor was not disposed to consent. Whether a sense of loyalty to his emperor or the profits of his position swayed him we know not. Certainly he refused to leave, and remained quite obdurate even when to his brother’s entreaties were added the pleadings of his own wife. Persuasion failing, the woman’s wit invented a plan which she confided to Chien Wen, who, falling in with her scheme, proceeded forthwith to put it into execution. Urging the unsettled condition of the country, as well as reminding his brother of the high position he held as governor-general, and pretending that he was about to retire to Nanking alone, Chien Wen now asked his brother to provide him with an escort of four thousand men, and as a special favour to himself to accompany him 4o li on the road. The unsus- pecting governor agreed, and in almost regal splendour the two brothers set out together. No sooner had they gone than the governor’s wife packed all her most precious valuables on carts and animals that she had already secretly prepared and set out after her liege lord and his brother Chien Wen. Before leaving the city, however, she caused it to be set on fire in several places at once, and when her husband, returning from escorting his brother, met his wife on the road, she in great sorrow and with many tears told him it was no use returning, as Heaven had sent fire and the whole place was being reduced to ashes, “And that,” concluded the old schoolmaster, “ was the end of the T’ai Ming Ch’eng.” “Shuo shih T’ien huo, k’e shih jen fang ti” (She said it was fire from Heaven, but it was really started by man). Whether the ruse was successful in the way she intended cannot 132 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA now be determined, but at least there has never been any attempt to rebuild, and after that it is probable that the seat of government was transferred to its present location at Jehol. Fortunately, though the city perished, the pagoda was unharmed, and still stands in its pristine glory, a superb monument to somebody’s enterprise and good workmanship, and one of the few sights of Inner Mongolia really worth seeing. CHAPTER IX MAY DAY AT THE FAIR THIS proved to be one of the most interesting and exciting days of our trip and well merits a chapter to itself. Without knowing or intending it we had man- aged to stumble upon quite the best day of the year for our visit to the famous pagoda, since it was the principal day of the annual fair, when thousands of people from all parts of the district attend for the threefold purpose of business, pleasure, and worship. Having forded the Lao Ho, we passed through the Mongol village of Meng Chia Wo P’u, and avoiding the road which led right into the heart of the fair- ground, where the theatres were set up, we ploughed our way across the fields in a bee-line for the pagoda. It was then just 9 a.m., and the crowds of people could be seen streaming in from all sides. We mounted the remnants of an inner wall of the once-famous city, to find to our surprise that the pagoda was still some 600 yards away. Here we sat down to rest for a while, and Shu Feng came up to tell us he had secured comfortable lodgings in the house of a wealthy man which stood near the fair-ground and outside the city wall. Our mules had already gone ahead past the place, but a man on my pony soon overtook them and brought them back, and we were as hospitably enter- tained there as at any place on our trip. 133 134 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Having taken one “snap” of the pagoda from the city wall we set off across the fields towards it. Yuan Min drew my attention to the quantity of broken bricks and tiles strewn all about the land we were walking over, the débris of the once-proud city that boasted a self-crowned king. So numerous were these pieces that it would be a practical impossibility to clear the ground of them, so the tillers of the soil have made the best of their conditions and the harvests spring up in the midst of the fragments. The crowd of people around and about the pagoda was something immense. Early though it was, our progress across the fields was watched by an interested multitude, in which women and girls were prominent, though my attempts to “snap” them as I walked were none too successful. Marisami and I, the black man and the white, made direct for the pagoda, and joined the noisy throng pushing up the steps leading to the stone platform on which it is built. At the top of the steps the crowd was thickest, and that was explained by the presence of four lusty Lamas with incense- burners and prayer-wheels doing a roaring trade on the credulity of the simple people surrounding them. Slowly round the base of the pagoda the people were incessantly moving. We followed, but I stopped on the west side to change the films in my kodak, the mysterious operation being closely watched by a mass of perspiring people, who, towering over meas I knelt to open my camera, most effectually blocked out all fear of light. On the ground in the shadow of the wall were seated a number of ragged and unwashed vagrant Lamas, loudly offering to spin their prayer-wheels for any who would give them a few cash. __I stopped before one and tempted him with a silver dollar, which I offered ‘ydoO¥d SAON¥A AHL LV SMAddHSyO.W AXV (Ga11dA) SVIVT MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 135 him in exchange for his wheel. It was really not fair to the poor beggar, for that dollar was glinting in the sun- shine, and the wretched Lama looked as if he had never possessed a dollar in his life. But with such a crowd of devotees about him to sell his wheel might have been dangerous, and so the bargain was not concluded. He kept his wheel and I kept my dollar. Almost every man there, young and old, was busy with his devotions, yet not too busy to stop and stare at the uninvited guests at the festival. Some were hurriedly counting their beads and mumbling their incessant “Pu Sa Arimata” (the Mongol version of the Buddhist formula, “OM! ma-ni pad-me Hung!” Hail! The Jewel in the lotus-flower!), pushing rapidly through the crowd, and every few yards halting to knock their heads in what they meant to be reverence against the wall. The most pathetic instance of this devotion was a poor woman some forty years of age, who was per- forming the most extreme form of penance known to the Mongols. This consisted in her slowly measuring her full length round the pagoda. Kneeling down first she would then lie face downwards on the stones, make a mark with her outstretched hands, and then slowly rising and advancing to where she had made her mark, repeat the same exhausting process all the way round. It was to me a most saddening and affecting sight. The mental and physical agony depicted on her face were pitiful to behold. Not for a moment did she cease her labour, nor pause in her pleadings, nor glance at the curious crowds round her, not even when the foreigners appeared. She was the only individual I saw that day who did not see me, nor honour me with a stealthy look. Intent upon her self-imposed penance, she was oblivious to all that went on around her, seeking in this way merit with the Buddha. I 136 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA have never seen so emphatically the devotion of the saint or the possible martyr. I am of course a missionary, but it was not in any professional or proselytising spirit that I longed to tell her that such penance was altogether unnecessary : that mere forms of physical exhaustion were of no avail in the sight of God, who “looketh upon the heart and not on the outward appearance” : that it is “clean hands and a pure heart” that recommend us to Him: and that “in every nation he that feareth Him and worketh righteous- ness is accepted with Him.” I do not say that God would not regard her devotion, even though it sprang from ignorance and was the exaction of a perverted and debased faith. I simply would have pointed out to her the simpler and better way of true faith and holy life, that her spiritual aspirations might be satis- fied and her toilsome penances put away. But the moment was not opportune. She was in a condi- tion of highly strung and super-nervous excitement. “Whether in the body or out of it,’ who can say? And to have spoken to her then would have been more than an intrusion into what was plainly one of the most sacred hours of her life. It would have been as though one were to address the stone image of the Buddha that looked serenely down from the pagoda. We could only turn away with wonder in our minds at the mystic power of even a defective religion, and with a genuine pity in our hearts for that poor woman who so laboriously sought the mercy of the Buddha—her God. Completing the circuit of the pagoda, we drew up at the front before the four Lamas, looking for all the world like Franciscan monks in their brown cloaks and hoods. They were still chanting their solemn and not unmusical dirge, and the people were still crowding round them, ‘vaooVd SNONVA AHL LV NANO.AW TOONON SNOTHNS MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 137 eager to take part in the simple and superstitious ceremonies going on. Before them knelt a little com- pany of eight or ten Mongol men and women. As each company finished their devotions they gave place to others awaiting their turns, and we saw the whole transaction repeated from beginning to end. The censer was full of smoking incense which filled the air with its pungent fragrance. Many of the worshippers spent a few extra cash and set up a few incense sticks before the simple altar. As each group knelt before the priests, having first knocked their heads on the ground, repeating prayers and counting beads, one of the senior Lamas took from the altar what appeared to be a double dish of “hsiao mi” (small yellow millet). In turn he handed one of these to the men before him, each of whom took and reverently held it before his face, repeating still his prayers, and then carefully handed it back to the Lama. That finished, another Lama took up a small brass teapot from which he poured out a few drops only of some liquid into the outstretched hands of the kneeling devotees. With his right hand he pours out, but with his left he takes in, for in not a single case does he grant the water until each worshipper has paid him a few cash. The recipients of the water instantly put it to their lips, sip a little with evident relish and satisfaction, and then with what remains anoint their heads, rubbing it well into the roots of their hair. A few more prostrations before the Lamas, and their part is over for that time, and they are hurriedly hustled to one side to make room for another group, equally anxious as they. Standing near to me was an old Lama, evidently a visitor from a distance, a silent spectator as I was. I quietly asked him what the liquid was which was poured out from the little teapot, and the meaning of the whole ceremony. The millet, a staple article of food, and the water would seem 138 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA to suggest some ceremony associated with the culture of the land and the supply of daily necessities, and I was anxious for enlightenment. Before the old Lama can reply a Chinese youth blurts out that the whole thing is “hu lung jen ti” (a deception of the people): that the liquid is simply plain water from the well near by, and that priests and worshippers are alike deluded. But the old Lama waxes indignant at the suggestion, insists that the water is holy water from “ Fo Yeh” (Buddha), and that the ceremony is “hao” (good). In what respect it is specially good he does not attempt to state, but manner rather than speech would imply that he attached sacra- mental virtue to it. I try in a few sentences to show how unnecessary at the best all this is. But preaching is impossible in such a Bedlam of pushing and shouting, of chanting of prayers and paying of cash, so we leave them to their worship and descend to the Lama temple at the foot of the pagoda. Passing through the back door of the temple com- pound, we entered first into a small room or hall con- taining an enormous prayer-wheel, 14 to 16 feet high. It was hung with scrolls and had a lot of Tibetan or Mongolian characters carved upon its face, being doubt- less nothing more than the ordinary Buddhistic formula. The small boys in charge, seeing the foreigners enter, at once began to turn the wheel round, and gave us to understand by signs that they expected us to pay the customary toll exacted from all who passed through. We were not having any, however, profanely lacking the need of the mechanical prayers, and not feeling disposed to assist in the upkeep of their superstitions. It was abundantly clear at the T’ai Ming Ch’eng that the worshipper was expected to pay for everything he got or had done for him. The collection-plate was in evidence wherever you turned, and though we had no MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 139 means of gauging the amount netted by the Lamas at their various stands, the total must have reached a considerable sum before the fair came to its close. We walked round a large building in front of the prayer-wheel room, for we had entered the compound by the back door, and then found ourselves before the principal hall. At the entrance stood two well-fed and loud-voiced Lamas chanting prayers. On the terrace leading to the hall was again a large concourse of people quietly and with seeming reverence listening to the chanting from within. We easily made our way to the open door, and there found some thirty Lamas squatting down cross-legged on their low stools, and before their benches, droning out their quaint plaint. I counted sixteen small boys among them, and am bound to add that though what they chanted was unintelligible to us, since they sang in an unknown tongue, yet the sweet tremors of the treble voices mingling with the deep, rich bass of the older men made most exquisite harmony. I do not wonder that the poor ignorant Mongols find their dull hearts enraptured as they listen to such chanting. It is all so mystic and mysterious, and to them it means just what it would mean for me to stand in some ancient Christian fane like York Minster or Westminster Abbey and listen to the songs of worship and adoration addressed to the Christian God. Behind an altar with lighted shrines stood four more Lamas, evidently the directors of the ceremony. We might have entered without rebuke, we might have even asked questions had we been so minded, we might indeed have stopped the worship for some minutes while we sought and obtained information that I now feel would have been interesting, if not instructive. But though I was an unbeliever, and knew the vanity and profitlessness of mere mechanical and external worship, 140 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA yet for me to have said or done anything to ridicule or even momentarily interrupt the service in which the Lamas were engaged would have been an act as repre- hensible as though one were to break in on a Christian service in any cathedral of the West. Ridicule is cheap —and nasty. Banter may entertain the onlookers and salve the vanity of the banterer, but neither is a likely method of winning sympathy for your own cause or your own faith ; and I sometimes wonder if we men from the West in our dealings with the men of the East ever realise how much harm can be done by thoughtless discourtesy. The Golden Rule will apply here, even though you are dealing with such simple, ignorant creatures as Mongol Lamas. For though their faith be vain, and their modes of worship mere formalism, it is not for the preacher of the true faith, at least, to seek to recommend his faith by pouring contempt on theirs. So we contented ourselves with looking, and came away without asking a single question. We visited next a smaller hall in front and saw there what I had never seen before, viz., a standing Buddha. I have since seen an exactly similar image on the landing of the Birmingham Art Gallery. The expression of face and position of body are exactly alike, but while the image at Birmingham is of dull bronze (if I remember rightly), that at the T’ai Ming Ch’eng is picked out in delicate colours, which much enhances the effect. This figure affected me strangely and profoundly. Whether the plaintive chants to which I had been listening had got into my brain, or whether the reverent spirit of the immense throngs of people had some reflex action on my soul, I cannot say. At the risk of being misunderstood, and at the risk of shocking some of my sturdy Non- conformist friends, it is simple truth here to state that it would have been a comparatively easy thing for me to MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 141 have knelt down before that image, and pay homage to “One greater” than the Buddha, of whose selfless life Buddha himself was so marvellous a forerunner. The sweet and gracious expression on that gentle face would have charmed an artist, inspired a poet, and captured entirely the love of a devotee. One slender golden hand is upraised in the act of blessing : the other outstretched in entreaty. And as I stood before it, and from the other courtyard there came those melodious strains from the lips of the Lamas, I had a vision. To me this was no mere dull, lifeless image of the Enlightened One: it was a parable of my Master, Jesus, of whom these poor ignorant Mongols knew nothing, but whom I have been ordained to preach “in the regions beyond”: it was a picture of Him who needs neither images nor idols to bring Him near. And had this figure stood in some venerable cathedral of the Catholic faith in Europe, the most appropriate word to have written over it would have been the old familiar words of love and blessing, “Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” I do not wonder now that some people find images and icons helpful to their faith. Some souls are so made that to realise the unseen, that unseen must in some way be visualised before them. Granted that that is a weak and halting form of faith, neither so robust nor so strenuous as that in which some of us have been trained, yet there it is, an undoubted fact in millions of cases, in both Christian and non- Christian lands. And I remembered especially as I stood there that morning the old-time observation of the quaint Abbé Huc, of the wonderful relationships and resemblances that exist between Catholicism and Lamaism. For myself, it is not irreverent to say that, though I bowed not my knee, nor even momentarily inclined my head as I gazed on what in vulgar parlance 142 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA we must call an idol, I realised my Lord more distinctly and drew nearer in spirit to Him. And I turned away with my heart deeply moved at the sensuous beauty and imagery of the Lama ritual and faith, though I was “wae” at the thought that it is mixed up with so much ignorance, superstition, and vice. I add the last word because I cannot but believe that the Lamas in the main are a lazy, rascally, vicious set who trade upon their own ignorance and the credulity of the people. Good men, men who spent their lives in the pursuit of truth and virtue, would not have such faces as many of these Lamas have. The hall-mark of sin, in some of its most vicious forms, is unmistakably stamped upon their features. What was found true in the “holy” city of Lhasa in 1904, Sir Francis Young- husband and Lieutenant-Colonel Waddell being wit- nesses, is true in all the widespreading districts of Eastern Mongolia, where the Lama reigns supreme, and while dominating the mind, soul, and body of his lay brother, practises few of the virtues of his own religion, but rather indulges in gross and evil conduct that cannot be spoken of without disgust. But I will not at present further dwell on such an unsavoury topic, though some- thing more will need to be said later on. We now made our way to the temporary lodging that had been placed at our disposal in the village adjoining the fair-ground. We were fortunate in having accommo- dation in a private house, the home of the wealthiest landowner in the entire district of P’ing Ch’uan Chou. Save that the roofs were tiled and the walls made of brick, there was but little to distinguish this wealthy man’s house from the average house of the small holder. The interior appointments of all houses in China vary but little. In all the principal item is the “k’ang,” or brick bed, a bed by night and a lounge by day, where men sit cross- MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 143 legged to get their food and play their innumerable games of chance with dice or chess, and women give birth to their sons and daughters, or make the clothing for the household. In some houses of the better class, as in this at T’ien Chiang Ying Tzu (Ironsmith’s Camp), there are some slight attempts at order and cleanliness lacking elsewhere, but after all, what place can be kept cleanly where the floor is soil, the rafters are exposed and hanging with cobwebs, and the corners contain accumu- lations of dust that have never known a spring clean- ing ? The couple of rooms we occupied were in a private courtyard to the east of the compound, where the prying curiosity of the crowd outside could not intrude upon us. The larger room was the schoolroom of the bright lads of the household, the smaller room, which I occupied, being the abode of the old tutor of the family, an intelligent old scholar of the Confucian order, with whom I had later a most interesting chat. One pecu- liarity of the schoolroom was that its walls were decorated with large bows and arrows, indicative of the family’s interest in the ancient game of archery. Our host, whose name was Ting, was quite the largest private landowner I met in my travels. He owns 7,000 mu (nearly 1,200 English acres) of splendid land, feeds over forty mules and horses, besides a stock of sheep and oxen, and employs no fewer than seventy men to manage his farm. He openly admitted to me that the most profitable crop he could plant on his land was opium, and therefore a large portion of his land was given up to that. The new regulations will have hit him hard, but the man was so eminently reasonable and practical in all his conversation that he is not likely to do aught but bow to the Imperial will. He was a very simple-natured and mild-mannered man of forty- 144 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA three who had lived all his life in the obscure village by the famous city, and had only been in full possession of his estates for six months, his father having died at that time. He was full of apologies that in consequence of his bereavement it was not possible for him to have attired himself in his ceremonial garb, and have welcomed me to his home with the honour befitting my lofty (?) station. The same reason was offered in declining a request of mine to photograph the whole family. They were in mourning for his father, and it was not proper for them to dress in their best clothes. The presence of the bows and arrows in the school- room was explained by the fact that for generations his family had excelled in archery, every male ancestor having held the military degree for proficiency in the art. Our host himself was disposed to mourn over the fact that in him the worthy succession had been broken, though that is not due to lack of ability with the weapons. A few years ago he had made the journey to Peking to compete in the annual trials of skill, only to find when he got there that the ancient customs had been abrogated, and his hopes of main- taining the glory of his ancestors had thereby perished. He is, however, so enormously wealthy for a Chinese that sooner or later in one form or another he will “chuan” (purchase) official rank for himself, and thus the latter glory of the house may exceed the former. The proficiency of the family for so many generations in this art, and their settlement so near the T’ai Ming Ch’eng, coupled with the traditions of Li K’e Yung’s prowess with the bow and arrow, would seem to suggest that the cult of the archer in that district has been fostered and helped by the ancient tales. Though I failed to make inquiries on the point, it is quite within the bounds of possibility that among the subjects or MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 145 serfs of Li Chin Wang a thousand years ago were the for- bears of that very man whose hospitality 1 enjoyed at Tieh Chiang Ying Tzu, and who seriously bewailed the fact that for the first time in the history of his family the head of the clan (himself) held no military degree for proficiency in archery, and was disposed to blame his own unworthiness for the lack. It is reasonable to liken Mr. Ting to some of the non-titled landed proprietors of England. He was what we would have called the squire of the district, looked up to by all his neighbours, consulted and honoured by the officials of the city and exercising in his limited sphere practically the influence usually associated with the squire at home. Yet even so, so democratic is Chinese society, he was subject to the curiosity and eavesdropping common to the land, and since the theatres were but a few steps from his gate, we had to undertake that none of the crowd outside should be permitted to enter the compound because of our presence there. If any turning out were required, on us and not on him the burden was to fall, since in China even a wealthy man like the squire could not be guilty of so serious a breach of manners and hospitality as to resent the intrusion into his rooms of the curious crowd eager to see and hear whatever was going forward. How we had to fulfil our obliga- tions I will now proceed to relate. In the afternoon, being wishful to secure with my large camera some pictures of the holiday crowd and the pagoda, I went outside, accompanied by Weng, the writer, and Yuan Min, carrying the camera. That proved the most exciting incident in the day’s proceed- ings, and I managed then to get round me quite the biggest mass of people I have ever been treated to in China. My appearance among the crowd was the iI 146 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA signal for desertion of performances, gambling booths, and restaurants alike. On the old wall of the city I contrived to get the tripod set up, and being well above the heads of the crowd managed to get a couple of pictures of matting-covered carts and the motley gathering of gaily-dressed humanity before the stage. But the crowd grew with the moments, and it seemed that both my camera and myself would be overturned and trodden upon. We therefore turned off towards the pagoda, hoping to get some sort of a picture, but progress across the fields was growing more difficult as the minutes went by. From all parts of the fair the folks ran, until when I set up the camera in the fields and focussed it on the pagoda, there was a dense mass of people round me, and scores of heads thrust forward to see what the foreigner was doing when he took off the little round cap. I got the plate exposed somehow, and thinking it best to get rid of such unwelcome popularity, I whispered to Yuan Min to get back home with the camera as quickly and quietly as possible. He, wise man, at once left me, and going about a hundred yards south of where I was, made tracks in peace for our lodging. Weng and I turned for home also, and walked slowly along, the centre of such a rushing and pushing crowd, such a squalling and scrambling concourse of people as I have never been in in my life. Of the heat I need not speak, but the dust rose up in clouds, covered our clothes, and choked our throats until we looked and felt as if we had been in a dust-storm. Some of the more forward fellows, pushing near in their anxiety to see me, stumbled and fell, and were in danger of being trampled on by the crowd crushing behind. We got them up in safety, however, and then Weng began to show temper, and started to upbraid the people for their lack of manners, ‘gtr ‘d aovj OL ‘ADVIS-AULVAHL YNLMOHS ‘ONY,HO ONIN IV. LY GNQOMD-AIVaA NO ANAS MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 147 reproaching them with being ignorant of the common laws of courtesy to a guest, &c. The crowd, however, though curious, was in no way rough or antagonistic, much less insolent. Not once did I hear a single unmannerly phrase, so I at once checked the fiery zeal of my writer and in a whisper reminded him that we were but two, and that if we in any way angered the crowd it would go hardly with us. In China, perhaps more than in the Western lands, a crowd needs to be wisely and judiciously handled. A hasty word, an angry push might easily precipitate a riot, while a good- natured joke and a cheery smile will turn the people from possible foes into real friends, and send them away singing loudly the praises of the wonderful men of the West. I therefore walked along as well as I could chatting with the men nearest to me, telling them I thought they should each pay me for affording them such good entertainment, &c., so keeping them in good-humour and myself in good health. But the old wall now stood before us, and over that I had to climb. It was literally black and blue and purple with men and women, Lamas and laymen, to say nothing of the small fry, and that, I knew, would be the place most difficult to cross safely. At the bottom of the wall I looked up comically at the gazing crowd above me, made a remark which set them all into a roar of laughter, and before they had well got over their guffaw, I had got over the wall, and was heading in a beeline for Mr. Ting’s front door. Arrived there, I turned round and faced the crowd who had raced after me, quite the largest and most excited congregation I have ever had. I gave them the formal Chinese salutation by placing my hands together, raising them to my head and making them an elaborate bow. In the best Chinese I could command 148 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA I thanked them with mock gravity for their so great attentions to so insignificant a stranger, expressed my regret that I could not invite them all inside to a cup of tea and a chat, but that, as I was myself but a passing guest, and unwishful to cause my host any annoyance, I hoped they would now quietly disperse to their recrea- tions at the fair. And with that I went back to my room, thankful that I had so safely got past the tightest corner I had ever been in. But a few minutes later one of the house-servants rushed in to say that the people had crowded into the front compound and refused to leave. They dare not turn them out themselves. Our promise had now to be fulfilled. My Chinese assistants wished to appoint Marisami to clear the yard, and he, an old soldier, was in nowise loath to act the policeman. But fearing that his ignorance of Chinese language and customs might lead to a riot, | went out myself and chided the crowd for having violated the rules of good behaviour, and so disturbing the peace of a gentleman who had placed rooms at the disposal of his foreign guests. One or two older men in the foreground having moustaches, | appealed to them to exercise their authority over the crowd and get them to disperse. I reminded them that having moustaches they had reached the age of wisdom and judgment, and were therefore responsible for the good conduct of the younger portion of the throng. The plea worked like a charm, and I commend my plan to brother foreigners in similar circumstances in China. Never lose your temper. Keep cool and quiet; if possible, good-humoured. Above all, never threaten the people, either with language or revolvers. Many ariot has been precipitated by a too hasty flourish of firearms, and in some senses revolvers are most useful if left at home. Single out the man nearest to TT) To face p. 148, MARISAMI HAVING HIS HEAD SHAVED AT K’U LU KOU. MAY DAY AT THE FAIR 149 you who fondles a few straggling hairs on his lips, and for the proper dressing of which he carries a small- toothed comb slung round his neck. In most cases the ruse will answer. The Chinese crowd as a rule is simply one gathered by childish curiosity, and easily cajoled into good temper. And in the case I am de- scribing in less than five minutes all those people had gone, save one disconsolate yokel who had lost a shoe in the scramble. T’ai Ming Ch’eng rejoices in the residence of a Mongol duke, from whose son during the afternoon I had the honour of a visit. The duke himself had gone to meet and confer with Prince Su at the palace of the Haras- chin prince. From this sturdy scion of a noble clan I learned that in the eastern districts there are altogether thirty-six Mongol “ch’1,” or banners. Of these Pakou controls three: T’a Tzu Kou, three; Hata, seven; and Ch’ao Yang, four, all these being subject to the Tartar- General at Jehol. The remainder are under the super- vision of the Viceroy of the three Manchurian Provinces resident at Mukden. This duke and his son both have regular duties every year at Peking, the duke being responsible for the care of one of the principal gates in the Forbidden City. He is a “T’ai P’ing Wang,” that is, he has no administrative authority, that power in his district being vested in the Prince of Haraschin, 70 miles away. But his ancestors had helped the Manchu dynasty in its overthrowing of the Ming dynasty in 1644, and were rewarded by being placed in this fruitful spot as “ Kung Yeh” (Duke). This exciting May Day closed with a long and friendly conversation with my host, Mr. Ting. He expressed him- self as wishful some day to visit England, and learning that I was proceeding there soon, nothing would satisfy him but that I should have some memento of my visit to his 150 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA home, which he desired me to carry with his respects to my own mother in England. As a result, a fine old bow and arrow now adorn the walls of a humble home in a little village of Northumberland, and is pointed to with pride as having come from one of the wealthiest homes to be found in the wide and wild regions of Inner Mongolia. CHAPTER X ALONG THE OLD RIVER TO CHIEN CH’ANG YING From this point onward we were to travel over the most important and, as it proved, the most fatiguing part of our route, viz., the track of the Lao Ho from the T’ai Ming Ch’eng to its point of junction with the Shira Muren on the grass-plains in the far north. The Lao Ho rises some 60 miles south-west of the T’ai Ming Ch’eng, in a district that bears the Mongol name of Hurutku, transliterated by the Chinese into Huo Erh Huo K’e Ho. Flowing by a small village named Hei Ch’eng, the next important place on its course is the Famous City, 40 miles further north where, as I have already stated, we found the water both shallow and narrow at the time of our visit, and of course quite unfitted for anything in the way of navigation. The river itself enjoys a very unenviable reputation, and is spoken of in the district as being just as un- certain and treacherous as the Yellow River, China’s sorrow par excellence. In the rainy season—that is, July and August—it swells rapidly and deepens its channel to a dangerous depth, frequently doing much harm to standing crops, and causing those peasants who have their land near its banks to watch its vagaries with not a little anxiety. The last most serious inun- dation occurred in 1883, when it overflowed its banks, 151 152 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA destroyed the crops for many miles on either side, and claimed its toll of human life. Thus in the summer- time the question of crossing the river is a very serious one. At certain places as we passed along, we saw temporary plank-bridges over specially narrow parts, to walk which in safety must be almost as difficult and unnerving a feat as to attempt an amateur tight-rope performance. One old countryman we saw, anxious to get to the fair, did not dare to “walk the plank” at one place, but, taking off his boots and stockings, essayed to wade across. But just within a few yards of the other side the river suddenly shelved into a deep pool, and the old fellow had to crawl up on to the plank, and then creep along on hands and knees to the further side. This was near Pao Ku Lu, where the main road crosses to Hata, and where the river, though not broad, flows both deep and strong. Further north we found old flat-bottomed boats at certain points used as ferries. But up in the grass-land, where a boat has never been seen, and none of the natives seem to have any idea of how to build one, the river can only be forded at distinctly marked places, all other spots being treacherous, slimy mud, in which the natives affirm it would be an easy thing to be swallowed up. But in the heavy rains, when the river swells to abnormal size, and fording is impossible! What happens then ? asks the reader. Exactly what I asked of the natives, to receive the nonchalant reply, “Oh, then you have just got to wait till the rains cease and the volume of water lessens, and then ford across as before”! Happy land, where time is of no con- sequence, and man can wait upon the tide for a safe crossing! Of our crossing more anon. Our intention being to make a survey of the river as it flowed north-east it was not required of us to cross ALONG THE OLD RIVER 153 until after we had reached the limit of our northern march. We had simply to keep to the northern bank, and follow along as best we could. But this simple task proved to be none of the easiest. We had chosen mules for baggage transport as being better fitted than carts for river exploration. And we had started out with the innocent idea that there would be no path, however narrow, and no road, however rough, along which we could not get our mules and packs in comfort and safety. But 5 miles out from T’ai Ming Ch’eng we got our first check, and my notions of where a mule with a heavy load can and cannot go had to be suddenly corrected. Marisami and I were walking steadily ahead, and met a narrow path on the edge of the cliff near the small hamlet of T’ai P’ing Chuang (Village of Great Peace). We passed along very cautiously, Hansl and his little donkey friend picking their way sagaciously over the stones. Halfa mile further on the road suddenly turned due north and another bearing was necessary with the plane-table. We sat down to wait for the table, and sat there nearly an hour. And when the sturdy Yuan Min at length arrived, it was to report that the leading mule, in attempting to get along the narrow path just mentioned, had collided with the cliff and been almost precipitated into the river. It had therefore been necessary to unload every mule (a task of some diffi- culty where there was so little standing-room), turn their noses round, load them up again, and retreat for a couple of li to find a way over the high hill that towers up above T’ai P’ing Chuang. And so we realised at the outset that we were not to have things all our own way as we followed the soft-flowing and sinuous stream of the old river. A little further on, and we met check No 2. We had just passed the straggling village of Ts’'un Chia Wo P’u 154 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA (Shed of the Ts’'un Family). Marisami, Weng, and I were as usual walking on ahead; Yuan Min trudged behind us with his burden ; the mules were still further behind. On the other side of the river was the second Ku Shan Tzu (Orphan Hill) we had met on our tramp, when, without any preliminary warning, we found our- selves stopped by a precipitous and far-stretching ravine from 30 to 50 feet deep, down the sides of which one could no more lead a pony than you could teach him to fly. I had often read of and as often wished to see the loess formation of Shansi, and in a small measure we have land somewhat of that character in the neighbour- hood of Yung P’ing Fu. But this was the real original article, and we had it for some ro to 15 miles at that stage. There was nothing for it but to follow the ravine down to where it lost itself in the sand of the river-bed, where we crawled down one bank and up the other, and so got past the gap. But again the mules had to make a wide détour, strike inland a few miles, and come down into the village of Ssu Chia (Four Homes) over the top of another high hill where runs the only cart-road of the neighbourhood. This village of Four Homes, where we stopped for our morning meal, was a poor sample of a Chinese hamlet. The only inn it boasted was closed up for lack of trade, and things looked very unpromising for a set of hungry men. But the landlord was a decent sort, and when I told him that we would not be hyper- critical so long as we got something to satisfy us in quick time, he made answer, “Well, we should be a poor lot if we had no fresh water and small millet. Come in and make the best of what we have.” Now, one can always get along with a man of that stamp, and when the shutters had been thrown open, and some of surplus dust stirred up (our friend thought he had swept ALONG THE OLD RIVER 155 it away); when mine host got his wife to work on a ‘bowl of meal for my hungry men, while Marisami and I dissected the remains of an ancient fowl who had crowed his last defiant crow but yesterday, and the whole had been washed down with copious draughts of the ever-present and ever-welcome tea, then we vote our landlord a jolly good fellow, and vow that we have had as good a time as a company of tramps need wish for. It was in this village that I was specially struck with the peculiar and uncouth dialect spoken by all the Chinese we met. As a former resident of Shantung (which, though it rejoices in having produced the im- mortal sage Confucius, and his great disciple Mencius, yet speaks a series of dialects that are most contemp- tuously regarded by all Chihli residents, especially near the capital), the dialect I hear in Ssu Chia strikes on my ear with sweet (!) familiarity. I make inquiries of our landlord from what part of China they have come, and am not surprised to be told, Shantung. But I am surprised to be told that they have been settled there for six generations. Not a man of the many then seated in that inn chatting with me had ever seen, or were ever likely to see, Shantung. Yet the Shantung brogue was as broad as that of a Glasgow Irishman, and had simply been transmitted from father to son through all these two hundred years. They speak exactly as do the peasant class in the Shantung province to-day, intona- tions, slurs, and provincialisms persisting in their every utterance. It suggested itself to me as a remarkable instance of cleavage to type. And what we found at Ssu Chia we found with but few exceptions in all the villages we stopped at all the weary way to the grass-lands. Wherever we found pure Chinese living in a settlement or village, we found they 156 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA were Shantung people, mostly from the three prefectures of Teng Chou, Lai Chou and Ch’ing Chou; clannish and rough as ever, patient and hard-working as of old. And we did not come across more than two or three men, of all the scores we met, who have ever been near Shantung, or have any hopes of getting there on a visit. There was one Chinese settlement in the far north that is not peopled by Shantungese. But that is another story, which will fall to be mentioned in due course. At this village also we touched for the first time the newly-formed district of Chien Ping Hsien, Ssu Chia being the extreme limit of that county on the west side of the river. Formerly the district was administered by Ping Ch’uan Chou (Pakou), but the unrest caused by the presence of so many brigands in the territory, and the gradual growth of the population by immigration from within the wall, induced the high authorities to found two new “hsien,” or counties, exalt Ch’ao Yang from being a mere “hsien” to the dignity of a “fu,” or perfecture, and place the new counties of Chien P’ing and Fu Hsing under the prefect at Chao Yang Fu. The centre of the former district has been set up at a market town named Hsin Ch’iu, 80 miles north-east of T’a Tzu Kou, while Fu Hsing Hsien has its county town at Wu Erh T’u Pan, 80 miles north-west of Ch’ao Yang. Fish seemed to be plentiful in the river, as every few hundred yards we saw men wading in the water with their nets. The fish, however, are all very small, and scarcely worth the trouble of catching. The fact that the river flows north-east causes the people always to speak of it as “wang hsia liu” (flowing downwards), their speech being of course governed by the flow of the river and the lie of the land. Yet while the aneroid at T’ai Ming Ch’eng showed 1,780 feet below sea-level, ALONG THE OLD RIVER 157 at Ssu Chia it registered 1,900 feet. Yet still the river flows northward, the only river in all these regions that does so. At San Shih Chia Tzu next morning the aneroid stood at 1,800, the day after at 1,620, and from then onwards it fell steadily lower, until at the confluence of the Lao Ho and the Shira Muren—our most northerly point, which we reached three weeks later—the aneroid registered no more than 700 feet above sea-level. Thus though the river flows always north-east, there is a gradual dip in the land of 1,100 feet in the distance of 300 miles. The day had become intensely hot when we started out for a short march of 5 miles to San Shih Chia Tzu (Thirty Homes), a large and prosperous-looking village. The innkeeper we found to be a surly churl, the inn a dirty and disreputable place, and the villagers the most uncouth and unmannerly people we had so far met. At first they said they had no room for a party so large as ours, and gauging pretty accurately the sort of place we had reached, I was actually out of the yard into the street, and prepared for a further march, hot as it was, when we were called back to find that a party of opium-smokers had been cajoled into yielding place to us. But the rooms into which we were ushered were vile-smelling places, and were only made bearable by flinging up the windows and allowing some fresh, pure air to get inside. They were more habitable then, but a large crowd of visitors had by this time gathered round our door, and spent the rest of the afternoon there, daring every newcomer to go in and have a look at the two “foreign devils” who had arrived. We tried several times to get a bit of rest, but the rabble outside prevented us, and it was only when I scared the landlord by telling him that I should have to report him for discourteous treatment, that for his sake, not for ours, 158 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the crowd gave us some freedom from their bold and peering eyes, and ceased their insulting remarks. A room at the further end of this compound was in ruins, having been burnt down a few days before by the overturning of a lamp, which was being used to assist the landlord and his friends in some of their gambling operations. It was an eloquent comment on the use to which the inn was commonly put. In this quarter we saw again the villagers diligently watering the opium plants. The drought had been long- continued. Rain had not fallen since the autumn, of snow there had fallen but little during the winter. But the proximity of the river makes irrigation comparatively easy, and they have an ingenious though home-made method of irrigation. With long poles they make a two or threefold lever weighted down by heavy circular stones at one end, while on the other end are closely woven native water-baskets called “tou.” They cut a channel from the river into which they conduct the water, or, when that is not possible, they have wells dug in the middle of their fields. At each pole stands a man who works the lever. The weight of the stone brings up the full basket of water, which empties itself into a trough, the water then finding its way in and out among the plants at the pleasure of the labourer. It was a capital illustration of the Irish labourer’s theory that “the man at the top does the whole of the work.” With but little expenditure of strength or time, the work of watering the plants is made possible, for which let us hope the dwellers in those districts are duly grateful. As we advanced next morning the character of the ground—loess formation—made it impossible for some ro miles for us to follow closely by the side of the river. We had to strike inland at a Mongol village called Mei Li Ying Tzu, a village that to all appearance is doomed ALONG THE OLD RIVER 159 within the next few years to tumble into the wide and deep ravine that yawns at its southerly side. The village can only be entered from that side by crossing a rough bridge that spans the ravine, and as each rainy season carries away part of the earth, it would seem that the days of Mei Li Ying Tzu are numbered. In this village we saw many more scrolls and bannerettes hanging from the walls and trees of every house in the village than was usual in other places. I wondered whether these scrolls had anything to do with their superstitious attempts to evade the danger that threatens them. The loess formation persisted as we went forward to T’a Pa Ying Tzu, where we came upon the source of a small stream that follows the course of one of the ravines till it joins the K’un T’u Ho, which in its turn turns into the Lao Ho at a little place called Nan Ch’uan. T’a Pa Ying Tzu is a quaint place divided into four distinct parts, known respectively as “Shang,” “Hsia,” “Nan,” “Pei”; that is, Upper, Lower, South, and North. To reach it we had to wind in and out among the sand-dunes for over half a mile, then ford the K’un T’u Ho beyond the southern section of the settlement. The river was narrow enough when we crossed, but there was evidence in the bed and on the banks that indicates a wide and swift stream in the time of the rains. In the northern village we found a wretched inn, where amidst a conglomeration of agricultural implements and a stock of cut straw, all piled in the principal guest-room, I ate my meal with the sauce of traveller’s philosophy, which, however fond it may be of the trappings of conventionalism, ever finds hunger the best appetiser, and is content if the needs of the hour can be met. My needs that day were not few, for I had walked for two hours 160 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA before once mounting the pony, and had been off his back twice or thrice in the ro miles’ tramp. From T’a Pa Ying Tzu to Kao Liang Kan Tzu Tien was an easier path than that of the morning. We had made the circuit of the hills which line the northern bank of the river, and were gradually getting down nearer to it again. The road was perfectly level and free from obstructions of every kind, and we marched the 9 miles in two and a half hours very comfortably. The village is a long and straggling place with plenty of wide, open spaces about, totally unlike the majority of Chinese settlements, which are usually huddled up altogether. Around the village there is a lot of waste land waiting for people to develop it, and the present inhabitants, to judge from their houses and personal appearance, are fairly well-to-do. The village in its very name announces its Shantung origin. In all the broad districts east of the capital the long kao-liang sticks used for garden palings and household fuel are spoken of as “Shu Chieh” (Ripe Stalks). But the Shantung name for the same article is ““Kaoliang Kantzu” (Kao-liang Sticks). Hence the village we stopped at one night, in a tolerably quiet and comfortable inn, is the Inn of The Kaoliang Sticks. Just after leaving T’a Pa Ying Tzu away to the east we saw a large but somewhat dilapidated Lama temple, known as the Kan La Shu Miao, and clustered all about it were the huts that accommodate from four to five hundred Lamas of the type we had already seen at T’ai Ming Ch’eng. On this road also we found that all the larger houses and many of the smaller have built round them high and massive mud-walls; each corner, as well as the main entrance, having small battlemented towers of the kind usually seen in Chinese cities, with eye-holes in the towers through which a rifle might be fired. This ALONG THE OLD RIVER 161 is eloquent of the normal condition of things in these districts where the Chinese official rarely penetrates, and where the poor native has to live in a state of constant preparedness, lest the “gentlemen of the road” should make a sudden swoop and clear out their prime horses and their pretty girls. On the next morning, May 4th, we were trudging along in the sand and gravel of the river-bed, while the mules were slowly marching along on the main road. Two miles from Kao Liang Kan Tzu Tien we came upon what appeared to be a military encampment built on the high land immediately facing a fine stone bridge that, at the village of Ma Chuan Tzu, stretches across the river. I hailed a passing peasant and asked what this was, why and by whom erected? As I surmised, it was by way of being a small fort erected by one Mr. Li Kuei five years before, to be used against the brigands, who then laid the land waste, and sought to cross the river by the bridge just named. This Mr. Li was evidently a man of more than ordinary importance. I learned later that he is a native of T’ai T’ou Ying, a busy market-town some 25 miles from Yung Ping Fu. Years ago, when he was but a very young lad, he went outside the wall as personal attendant to some old Lama who had picked up this smart and destitute boy in his wanderings. Now Li Kuei is the leading man of the district. He has never returned to his native place, has been content to remain outside the wall and in the course of the years amass wealth. How all he has touched has turned to gold we do not learn, and perhaps it is as well we should not know all. But in the neighbourhood through which we were passing he was everywhere spoken of as “pi chih chou, ch’uan ping ta” (having greater power than the official). He farms several hundreds of mow of land; owns 12 162 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA pawnshops and distilleries in different places ; and is pro- prietor of a large and famous inn in Peking called the Ta Yu Tien. The old gentleman is evidently of bucolic temperament, for the tale goes that if at any time any of his numerous pawnshops and distilleries do not bring sufficient grist to his mill, he administers corporal pun- ishment to the manager of the house concerned. And many a man he is said to have beaten till they ran away. Hence when report was brought that the brigands were moving in his direction, Li Kuei, like a wise man, did not waste time in sending for assistance where it was not likely to be secured. On the “ Heaven helps those who help themselves” principle, he called all his neigh- bours and dependents together, and showed them that while he would suffer most, they were not likely to escape scot-free, advised the formation of a local militia for mutual protection and defence, and took over the command himself. But not content with this, he caused the prompt erection of the miniature encampment above named, facing the spot at which the brigands were bound to cross the river, if they came that way at all. They did come, but they never got across the river, for the intrepid Li Kuei and his merry men were there to welcome them, and after a conflict, in which the brigands got the worst of it, having no cover and exposed to heavy fire from the camp, they turned off to seek “fresh fields and pastures new.” And the praise of the encounter was all ascribed to Mr. Li Kuei. During our march that morning we got ourselves into a bit of an Irish bog, which made us realise once again we were not out on a holiday jaunt. I was in front on my pony, and almost before I realised that we were among soft mud, Hansl was sinking in it, and snorting and puffing in terror as he struggled across into a bank of soft, yielding sand. Weng, my writer, volunteered to ALONG THE OLD RIVER 163 carry Marisami across on his back, first stripping off shoes and stockings, but Yuan Min would not commit himself to so precarious a mode of locomotion, and made a sort of détour, gingerly picking his way over the bog. We were none the worse beyond a very healthy scare for us all, and I was thankful it was not likely we would land into any such bogs in the dark. We had just got across this nasty bit, and I was still riding in front, when I saw what I thought was a fine strong dog, with a yellow-brown thick coat. He was walking slowly along from the river and crossed my path about 100 yards in front of me. I am passionately fond of dogs, and thinking this chap an extra fine specimen, I called out to him. He took no notice, however, and I set him down as an unsociable creature who did not know English. I heard my men behind loudly discussing him, but, intent on the road before us, I paid no attention to what they were saying. Then I was startled by a great hue and cry, and, looking round, saw Mr. “Dog” being chivvied away by a company of field labourers, and he making off towards the river behind us. And only then it dawned on my dull under- standing that my dog was a wolf. No wonder he disregarded my “Poor fellow! Come here, then!” He was the only wolf we saw all the way round, and he was well worth seeing. And it was perhaps as well we were restricted to sight. We had our midday meal at Huang Chia Wo P’u, where in the house of a wealthy man we had to seek accommodation through there being no inn in the place. Our wealthy host was evidently not accustomed to entertaining foreign guests and was therefore some- what afraid of us; for while the four Chinese with us were invited to partake of a meal prepared for them in the principal compound, Marisami and I were ushered 164 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA into a small room in another yard to eat our own food, and where we had, as the most conspicuous articles of furniture, two massive coffins, fortunately both empty. The heat when we resumed our march in the afternoon was almost overpowering, and our tramp degenerated into a mere crawl. At one village we were all glad to seek the friendly shade of a high wall round a large com- pound, and, with no regard for appearances, sank down upon the ground like regular tramps. And there we met with an incident which I am glad to say is of very rare occurrence in this polite and courteous nation of the East. Parched and thirsty with the heat and the dust, Weng, my writer, started towards the gate of one com- pound and asked a labourer loitering round for a drink of water. “There is no water here,” was the surly response he got. “Then I will go into this yard,” says Weng, making towards the gate of the compound where we were resting. “There is no water there either. If you want a drink you will find a well at the end of the street. Go there and get it for yourself,’ growled the boor lounging against the door. Now that is so unusual a thing in China, that for once at least I lost my temper. I asked that fellow who had had the honour of bringing him up, since he had ac- quired such elegant and hospitable manners ; and though of course I did not rise to the heights or sound the depths of the filthy language in which a Chinese on the rampage would express himself, yet I flatter myself that for a foreigner I succeeded fairly well. Certainly our country bumpkin could not stand it long. He slunk away like a whipped cur with his tail between his legs, and took care not to show himself again. But by that time other men had emerged from the house we were resting near, and I turned to the oldest of these, and asked him (since I was ‘VIWH UVAN ‘OH IT IAM LY GVA-NNI Ea 85 Sree ALONG THE OLD RIVER 165 an ignorant stranger) if he would kindly tell me whether in their establishment they raised up men or wild animals, that even a “cup of cold water” is denied to a passing guest. It turned out that the house was a dis- tillery, and with many apologies for the ignorant boor- ishness of the man who had fled, they invited us to enter, that they might fulfil the obligations of hospitality by setting before us both tea and wine. But we would have none of them, and with a parting shot that we would not sup their wine on any conditions (for another reason than they imagined), we left them, overwhelmed with their loss of face through the lack of good breeding on the part of one of their labourers. For the Chinese would rather lose dollars than “face,” and the unwritten code of manners demands that never shall they be lacking in that cheap and common courtesy that shows itself even to a wayside traveller. And I was not in any sense sorry that fora few minutes I had let myself go, and saturated those people with the most scathing sarcasm that I was capable of in the Chinese tongue. That night we stopped in a decent village, with a capital inn, called Mei Li Ho. We were then only 20 miles from Hata in a direct line, but there being 20 miles of river that would remain unexplored if we went straight on to the city, I decided to keep on easterly to the market town of Chien Ch’ang Ying, from which place we could turn due west, and leaving the river for a few days pay a visit to the important city of Ch’ih Feng Hsien. The road along the valley to Chien Ch’ang Hsien for the first 10 miles was a most beautiful but fatiguing one. Beautiful by reason of the graceful poplar and willow groves through which we passed, and which screened us from the rays of the sun. Fatiguing because the road is laid in the sand, and travelling over sand 166 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA with heavily laden mules is no easy task. From Ma Chia Tzu, where we had our meal, on to Chien Ch’ang, we had yet another species of ground to march over. We were close by the side of the river all the way, but the road is some 15 to 20 feet above the water, and the land is for the most part uncultivated, and still in the condition known as “huang ti” (desert). There is a sparsity of population, and acres upon acres of land waiting to be scratched with the plough. Yet again the few hamlets we pass through are inhabited by colonists from Shantung and not by Mongols. These colonists, like those we met lower down, were the de- scendants of people who had settled there five or six generations before. We reached Chien Ch’ang Ying about three o’clock in the afternoon, and found ourselves in the first walled village we had seen since leaving the town of the same name within the Great Wall, only 20 miles from Yung Ping Fu. This “ gloriously established barracks ” has all the appearance of a rough market town. It boasts a military camp, with a company of cavalry under the supreme command of the Tartar-General at Jehol. The officer commanding was not at home, being reported to have gone out over a week before to chase the brigands that had been infesting the district. Reports had come in of a fierce fight waged 500 li further north-east, in which seven robbers had been killed, and a few of their horses captured. Consequently there were not more than ten or a dozen men left in charge of the camp, but from what I saw of them I should not care to commit my fortunes to their care. The people, mostly Shantung breed, were a rough, noisy lot, who simply besieged our inn, poked their fingers through the paper windows, pushed open and peered through the doors, and otherwise behaved in that ‘got ‘d avy of, ‘OH OWT AHL NO ONIA ONV.HO NAIHO ONIHOVONddIY NVAVUVO ALONG THE OLD RIVER 167 wearying manner so characteristic of the country Chinese to whom a foreigner is a rara avis, Never before had there been a foreigner in that little town, so in the hope that a good look would satisfy them, I went out and stood amongst them, showed them that I possessed but one nose, two eyes, one mouth and two ears, two hands and two legs, all of which very much amused them. They were specially hilarious when I used my old trick of showing them that though I do boast a “hung Hu tzu” (red moustache), I was not a “ma va tzu” (mounted robber). But my plan of campaign against their curiosity was only partially successful, and we had e’en just to submit to the fuss and worry. The town boasted one petty official designated a “fu-yeh” (sergeant), who was under the “hsien” magistrate at Hata, and keeps the peace of the town with two policemen. He was an intelligent young fellow from Pakou, and a son of the house where eighteen months before I had met and conversed with the commander-in-chief, H.E. Ma Yi K’tin. We soon struck up a friendship, and he told me a great tale of a place on the river named Hsiang Shui (Sounding Waters), 100 miles further north, where the waters disappear from view in the midst of a high hill, travel underground through caves which no man has ever explored, and emerge into light again after 13 miles of darkness. My spirits rose high at the prospect. One purpose of my trip was to discover these so-called disappearing streams, and I had a few airy visions of what was before me. But, as the Chinese would say, “tsai shuo ” (we will speak of that again). The young “fu-yeh” also informed me that Prince Su, who was then on a tour of inspection of the various Mongol banners in the territory, was due to reach Hata on Monday, May 7th. As we were to arrive there 168 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA on the 6th, there was just a chance of our seeing him, and I resolved to make an attempt to interview and compare notes with this most progressive and clean- handed Manchu prince. CHAPTER XI WESTWARD HO TO HATA On Sunday, May 6th, we had our loads packed up early and were off by daylight. Our route was due west, and just outside the village we had to climb some 300 feet to the top of a wide plateau, which ex- tended in a straight line before us for a couple of miles. We came upon a few men preparing to plough the land, and witnessed a simple ceremony of which even the Chinese accompanying me were ignorant and avowed that it was not practised within the wall. The three men were burning incense paper as we reached them, and making the customary genuflexions on the ground, while with them they had three eggs which were to be broken and poured out on the land as an offering to the God of Agriculture. I asked them the purport of the ceremony, but the only answer I could get was “toa ta liang shih” (that we may have greater crops). In a kindly way I remonstrated with them as to the useless- ness of such ceremonies, and told them that for good crops they, like all men everywhere, are dependent upon Him who sendeth the rain alike upon the just and the unjust, and causeth the sun to shine upon both the evil and the good. My sermonette met with instant success, for one of the men, in a half-shamefaced manner, offered to give me the eggs for my own use, but declining his 169 170 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA simple kindness, I left them to their ploughing and their inarticulate praying, wondering again at the mysterious ramifications of Chinese superstition. We passed within easy reach of the Yuan Pao Shan (Hill of Original Treasures), where coal has been pro- duced for many years, and I rode over to have a look at the primitive mine. The best building about the place was the idol-temple, which, I presume, if the men could have spoken “pidgin” English, they would have called “good joss.” The rooms in which the workmen herd together were not nearly so clean and respectable, and I wondered how it could be possible, even for such experts in packing as the Chinese are, to find room for over two hundred men. However, should the crush become too great at nights, there is always the temple to fall back on, for the presence of the idols, be they ugly or beautiful, acts as no deterrent when a repose couch is sought. One of the men standing about took charge of my pony for a while, and I went inside the hut that covers what by courtesy we must call the shaft. The men were going down the clumsy steps. It was a weird and eerie sight, in the semi-darkness of the hut and the pitch blackness of the shaft, to see these humble miners going down to their work in the early morning, holding their smoking and guttering oil-lamps in their hands, and with their queues curled round their heads under their caps. For a few minutes I found myself transported back to my own county of Northumberland, among the hardy colliers who have been described as the aristocracy of the English working classes, and among whom my early life was spent. One cannot notice almond eyes in faces begrimed with yesterday’s sweat and coal dust, and that peculiar smell of oil and cotton waste which clings about the garments of miners in all lands helped to make the imagination appear more real. Differences of WESTWARD HO TO HATA 171 course there were, notably in the absence of driving- wheels and smooth-running cages, forced air-shafts and endless chains, iron “tubs” and wooden “bogies.” Still it was difficult to realise that I was in an Eastern land, and quite possibly the first child of the West to mingle with those men and look down that shaft. The shaft is said to be 200 feet deep, and is descended by means of three hundred roughly made steps fixed in the sides; a clear current of air is maintained through two shafts within a few hundred yards of each other ; there is no machinery of any kind whatever in the mine; and when water is met in any serious quantity the workings have to be abandoned, but should the miners be at all able to cope with it, then they carry it to the surface in leather bags and get rid of it in that laborious way. The entire hill, extending for some 6 to 8 square li, is full of coal, which is not, however, of a very good quality. It is of slaty nature, and as the mine itself stands so far away from main tracks, it would never pay for the introduction of modern methods, even supposing the Government would grant a concession, which it is certain they would not. One good thing I learned was, they have never had a single fatal accident. Their care- ful plan of working ensures them against falls of stone from either the roof or sides, while the absence of trucks and wagons means that men are never caught in narrow alleyways, and crushed or mangled to death. I “tipped” the man who had been holding my pony with a ten cent piece, and as I rode away from the mine the men were divided in wonder at the bright appearance of the little coin they so rarely see there and the generosity of the foreign stranger who paid so liberally for so simple a task. The road towards a village named Ma Chia Tzu (not the village of the same name where we lunched the 172 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA previous day) led us over a succession of plateaux and valleys, the valleys being utilised mostly as the sites of hamlets and villages. Ascending one of these plateaux to a height of 600 feet, we found on top what appeared to be an immense multitude of ancient graves. The little cone-shaped mounds which invariably denote graves were ranged in what looked like some attempt at order and regularity, and the whole place resembled nothing so much as an old-time burying-place. It is generally accepted that the kingdom of the Sha T’o Kuo is noted not only for disappearing rivers, but for an ancient civilisation, and the sight of these “graves’’ stirs my interest at once. Had I stumbled upon the site of one of these ancient cities? And was my tramp to justify itself from an archzological standpoint as well as geo- graphically ? Was it to be my fortune to unravel some old-world secrets? A passing traveller discourages the idea, but I set him down as a country joskin who knows little or nothing of even an amateur explorer’s ambitions. His contention is that these mounds have been caused by the wind, and are not graves at all. We all pooh- poohed his statement, and one of my men, as eager as myself, drew my attention to what he says are the minute remnants of decayed bones. And I—well, the wish was father to the thought—I thought he was right. We spent some time hunting round, but discovering nothing more convincing, resumed our march to Ma Chia Tzu, and at once began a searching cross-examina- tion of the Shantung landlord in the inn. Alas, for the vanity of human hopes! “Are those not ancient graves on the top of that hill we have just passed?” “ Pu shih, chiu shih feng kua ti” (No; they are simply blown up by the wind). “But how can the wind blow up such mounds, and so many of them? And how come they all to be of one particular shape?” “Ah,” this witha "eZ td ooWy Of ‘VIVH YVAN NALSNHONH ONITIAAVAL i WESTWARD HO TO HATA 173 tone of pity for my ignorance of the ways of the wind in those regions, “you don’t know how the wind can blow here. This is the land of the winds and winds can do anything they please. Why, when the wind blows there is so much sand about that it is a case of ‘ chien pu ti jen’” (cannot see people). We were destined to learn more of the vagaries of the big winds of the district that very afternoon. After lunch the way to Hata had become very hot. Shu Feng, my servant, sitting on his mule, was lured into a sound sleep as we travelled, and was rudely awakened by tumbling to the ground, and as he picked himself up he looked round comically to see who had kicked him. Over the sand-heaps we toiled, but the city we sought was not yet in sight. Yuan Min had left his dark goggles at a village where we had stopped for a drink at the well, and had to go back a couple of miles to findthem. I sent Shu Feng on ahead to find us a decent inn in the city. The mules plodded steadily on. Marisami, Weng, and I, glad of any excuse to rest, sat down by the wayside to wait for Yuan Min. While waiting I suddenly noticed a cloud of unusual form and density appearing in the east behind us. Weng, when I drew his attention to it, suggested we had better be moving on. I looked at my watch as we started, and as the storm broke upon us. It was then just 2.10. At 3.30 we entered the east street of Hata. And in that hour and twenty minutes it is the simple fact that we saw nothing but our own boots and the cart-tracks along which we tramped, and which we did not dare to leave lest we lost our way. Riding, of course, was out of the question altogether. Oh, that wind! How it blew! And that sand! How it filled our nostrils and our ears, blinded our eyes and gritted our teeth! 174 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Most fortunately it was at our backs, and we had just to keep pressing forward. There was no attempt at conversation. To have opened one’s mouth would have meant an instant filling up with the sandy deposit of the Hata plain. We had looked for a city of which we had heard much and wondered more, but were thankful that we could at least make out the tracks of former carts which had passed along and left their deep ruts in the sand. And when we did at length enter Hata, it was in such a state that our mothers would have had difficulty in recognising us, perhaps more difficulty in owning us. And as we stumbled up the main street, with eyes fixed on the path before us, I saw first the boots, then the putties, next the khaki suit of a foreigner, and then a second form in clean striped flannels, and the proverbial feather could have knocked me over with astonishment as a strong, cheery voice, with an unmistakable American accent, said, “Are you Mr. Hedley ?” These two gentlemen proved to be Messrs. Morley and Dore, the former an American, the latter a German. They had arrived in Hata the previous day, and having passed through Pakou on their way north, had called upon the missionaries there, and being informed of my presence in the locality had been on the look-out for me. It was a great and delightful surprise to meet with gentlemen who could speak my own mother- tongue, and it did not take me many minutes to decide to put up at the same inn in which they were staying. That was the Kung Yuan Tien (Inn of Original Justice), a fine inn on the main street, and we were soon settled down in a couple of clean and comfortable rooms in the inner compound. My new- found friends proved to be exceedingly genial com- panions, and the short time we spent together was to us WESTWARD HO TO HATA 175 all as is an oasis in the desert. And yet they were travel- ling on one of the saddest missions that could send men out into those wilds, and just here it will be fitting that I should give some little account of them: Mr. Morley, a bright young commercial man from Michigan, U.S.A., had come all the way from home specially to gain information regarding the fate of his elder brother, Mr. Reuben H. Morley, who had been missing since September, 1905, having mysteriously disappeared while on a trip into the very regions where we three were travelling. It appeared that in the summer of 1905 Mr. Dore, the German gentleman, had been staying at the Hotel du Nord in Peking, making preparations for a long trip from the capital to Harbin, going by way of Lama Miao and the Mongolian desert, with stores intended for sale among the residents of that distant Russian outpost. At the same time Mr. Reuben Morley was a guest at the hotel, and he, together with a Frenchman who gave his name as Le Verigeur, and described himself as a retired captain of the French Army, struck up a friendship with Mr. Dore, as men so readily do in these far Eastern regions. Morley, who had spent some time in the Philippine Islands, first as a volun- teer, and later as a sort of resident in some inner post, seems to have had the certain instinct of the rover, and proposed to Dore that he should join his caravan and accompany him across the desert. He hoped, later on, to get down into Manchuria and see some of the fighting that was then going on between Russia and Japan. Le Verigeur, struck with the idea, preferred a similar request, and the good-natured Teuton, nothing loth to have the company of congenial spirits across the desert, at once agreed to the requests. Their 176 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA presence was likely also to be a source of strength to the caravan, and Morley, the son of a wealthy home and well provided with funds, made all the necessary arrange- ments, secured his passport from the American Lega- tion, and in August the three men started from Peking, with a caravan of one hundred camels, heavily laden with stores, for their long and slow tramp across the waste to Harbin. The route lay through the district of Luan Ping Hsien to Lama Miao, and Mr. Dore testifies to the fact that they were all on excellent terms together. Before they reached Lama Miao, however, Morley discovered that he had been robbed of a considerable sum of money as well as his passport, and suspected the landlord of one of the inns they had stayed at in some obscure corner of Luan Ping Hsien. At the same time, it was very remarkable (read in the light of later events), that Le Verigeur, who so far had made no display of money, suddenly blossomed out into wealth, bought himself a pony, and otherwise indicated to his companions that he too was not short of cash. Mr. Dore, leaving the caravan under the command of Morley, now pushed on ahead to Lama Miao, to hire carts for the march across the desert, and so save delay and possible extortion. Morley, chafing under the loss of his money, no sooner reached Lama Miao than he declared his intention of returning to Luan P’ing Hsien, and endeavouring to re- cover what he had lost from the landlord he suspected of the robbery. Le Verigeur agreed to return with him, and getting a statement of the case drawn up in Chinese, the two men parted from Mr. Dore at Lama Miao, leaving him to his lonely trip across the plains, which with his eighty-four carts he accomplished safely in eighty-five days. From that time Dore saw these men no more. WESTWARD HO TO HATA 177 Arrived at Luan P’ing Hsien, Morley submitted his case to the Chinese mandarin, who instantly sent off an officer in company with the two foreigners to demand restitution from the suspected landlord. They had ridden out from the city, a matter of 4o li—13 miles— when Le Verigeur declared they were travelling too slowly, and said he would return to Luan P’ing and wait there for Morley’s return. Morley went on to the inn, and with the terrors of the law to back him com- pelled the poor and probably innocent landlord to disgorge what it would now appear he had never stolen. Morley then rejoined Le Verigeur at Luan P’ing, from which place they travelled in company to Jehol. From there Le Verigeur made a hurried trip to Peking, but re- joined his friend after the lapse of less than two weeks. In the interval Morley lived quietly in an inn at Jehol, seeing the sights and enjoying some shooting in the adjacent hills. He informed the Legation in Peking by wire of the loss of his passport, and asked for a re-issue by special messenger. But the authorities there for some reason declined to comply with his request, and instructed him by telegram to return to Peking. By this time Le Verigeur had returned to Jehol, and Morley replied to the Legation, refusing to obey their instructions, and informing them that he had resolved upon crossing Eastern Mongolia, in the hope of getting into Manchuria and seeing some of the fighting. The two men were next seen together at a distant Roman Catholic Mission settlement named Mao Shan Tung, where, with the gracious hospitality of their class, the lonely French Fathers entertained them as guests. Mao Shan Tung is some 170 miles north-east of Jehol; 33 miles west of Wu T’an Ch’eng, while Wu T’an Ch’eng is exactly 60 miles due north of Hata. They left Mao Shan Tung together for Wu T’an Ch’eng, and from that 13 178 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA day onward no trace of Reuben Morley had been found. In September Le Verigeur suddenly turned up at Hata alone, and stayed at the Roman Catholic Mission in the East Suburb, representing himself as Vicomte Le Verigeur. He had with him then a shot-gun which he informed Father van Somme he had bought from Morley, the latter having found himself short of funds for his projected trip through Mongolia. From Hata Le Verigeur had been traced to Peking, where he stayed again at the Hdtel du Nord, and represented to a common friend of himself and Morley that in Mongolia he and Morley had had a quarrel, in which the latter had tried to shoot him, and that consequently they had parted company. It was noticed in Peking that Le Verigeur, who had formerly been the soul of good-nature, was at this time very morose and reserved, declining to join in any hilarity or sport, and studiously avoiding everything in the form of a camera. He borrowed money from the hotel manager to take him to Tientsin, leaving his trunks in the hotel as a pledge. When they were opened later they were found to contain nothing but bricks and rubbish. Le Verigeur was seen on the train from Peking to Tientsin, and since that time has disappeared almost as effectually as poor Reuben Morley. But— and here the investigations of the gentlemen I met in Hata seem to gather in incriminating force on the shoulders of Le Verigeur—a few days after he journeyed to Tientsin a letter of credit was presented at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank in Shanghai, and £160 sterling drawn in the name of Reuben H. Morley. Still later, at Colombo, just allowing time for a man to reach that port from Shanghai, another amount, this time for £580, was drawn in the same way. The signature in each case had been proved to be a clever but undoubted forgery. The WESTWARD HO TO HATA 179 French military authorities declare that they have no captain of the name of Le Verigeur on their Army List. And everything seems to point to a sordid tragedy on the wind-swept deserts of distant Mongolia. For later, near Wu T’an Ch’eng, Messrs. Morley and Dore gleaned evidence sufficient to prove that Reuben Morley died a violent death in the sand-deserts, and Le Verigeur was the only man with him when he perished, his horse being handed over by a Chinese servant to the Mongol Prince of Wu T’an Ch’eng. It was a sordid story, and a hopeless errand, a sad ending to a bright though some- what reckless career, and illustrates the old saw that “ fact is stranger than fiction,” and more distressing too. We spent two days together in the inn at Hata, and very welcome days they were to us all. Away on the tramp it becomes at times so lonely that the sight of a Western face and the sound of a Western voice is as a strong tonic to the jaded traveller. There is of course a real sense in which you do not miss men of your own race, and get quite accustomed to the lack. There is the never-failing interest of a new country; the diversified experiences that each day brings to you as you tramp along ; the freshness of a people with whom you have never been in close touch before; the peaceful pastoral scenes of the Mongolian plains; the varying and winding current of the river along whose banks you march ; all these and much more that will occur to the active imagination are daily and hourly at hand to relieve your loneliness and prevent regretful longings for what you have put behind you for atime. But how delightful to hear from some other man the familiar English tongue; to chat with men whose interests roam over the world as your own do, and whose mental and social horizon is equally wide with yours; who are not “cribbed, cabined, and confined” within the circular 180 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA walls of a Mongol hut; and who can actually give you some news of the world that seems so far away. You only realise how you have been missing all these things when you have them again for a day or two. Such pleasure was mine as I talked with my new-found friends, and got from them the only outside information I had from the outside world for seven weeks. The same evening that I reached Hata I was included in an invitation to dine with the genial priest in charge of the Roman Catholic Mission in their fine premises but recently erected in the East Suburb. Father van Somme was a tall, handsome Belgian of thirty-six years of age, who had then been in China nine years, and who, like all Roman Catholic missionaries, expected to live and die in the land of his adoption. One cannot but admire the self-abnegation that places and keeps men of the type of Father van Somme in such a place as Hata, where there are no social amenities to cheer him, and no domestic joys to solace him. Truly it is still clear that the idyll of Nazareth and the tragedy of Calvary have power to make men equal to many otherwise uncon- genial tasks. Though I cannot accept the discipline of his Church, I can and do quite ungrudgingly admire and praise the spirit that directs and sustains his own life and the lives of hundreds like Father van Somme. We were a lively and, I think, an interesting group round his table that night—American, Belgian, British, and German, to class us alphabetically. There was no flagging of conversation either at the meal or after it; for though we were but four men, we of necessity had recourse to no fewer than three languages to make ourselves mutually understood. Thus, van Somme and Dore spoke in French; Morley and I, of course, in English, though one had a Yankee accent and the other a Northumbrian brogue; Chinese was the medium of ‘ANVAOAMOU HIM ‘VLVH LY GALVYLSIOVIK AMIHS ‘OH DNId VL “MIN = Sie 39 Fae ore noo ore WESTWARD HO TO HATA 181 communication between our long-bearded host and myself, while Mr. Morley, speaking neither French nor Chinese, and Father van Somme, speaking no English, they two were compelled to talk through interpreters. It was a most enjoyable evening, rendered all the more piquant and interesting from the fact of these limitations of language, and also from the fact that that day, almost as by accident, we had met together in that distant city, and possibly shall never meet together again. Father van Somme declared it was a real red-letter day to him, since he had never before had so many visitors at one time, and we three voted him a jolly good fellow, though he wondered much that I should prefer Chinese tea or cold water before his cognac and claret, and could not understand why one of his fragrant Havanas could not tempt me to a whiff. On the Monday morning we had a prolonged visit from the chief civil official of Ch’ih Feng Hsien, interest- ing more from his relation to a famous man than for his own sake. His name was Li Ping Ho, and he was brother to Li Ping Héng, the man who was governor of Shantung when the Germans took possession of Kiaochou. Two German Roman Catholic missionaries were murdered in that province in 1897, and the murders were made the occasion for the occupancy of the territory named, an indemnity being claimed for the relatives of the murdered man, and in addition the degradation of the governor, Li Ping Héng. Governor Li had the reputation of being one of the most rabidly anti-foreign of all China’s high officials, and it need not be said that the demands of the German Government did not tend to make him less anti-foreign. He flung himself with most reckless ardour into the Boxer rising of 1900, marched at the head of a force of soldiers to resist the advance of the Peking Relief Force, and, chagrined with 182 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA defeat at Yang Ts’un, committed suicide rather than fall into the hands of the hated foreigner. His brother of Ch’ih Feng Hsien was a thin, delicate, deformed man of sixty-one. He bore on his face the marks of a confirmed opium-smoker, but was an ex- ceedingly pleasant and mild-mannered old fellow, who claimed acquaintance with me on the slender ground that, though we had never met, we had exchanged cards with each other when I passed through Pakou some two years earlier. Though an opium-smoker and an official of the older school, he had a good reputation for clean- handedness in the district, and whatever his more famous brother may have been, it is difficult to imagine that this man could ever be other than the genial and affable old scholarly gentleman he showed himself in our company. He naturally was very interested in the fact of my visit to his distant district, and very blandly remarked on my mapping work. The innocent attempt was but thinly veiled under the form of the inquiry, “I sup- pose you have not brought your passport with you ?” which seemed to suggest that if I had not I would have been asked to return to the place whence I had come. The old gentleman was very astute also when I re- marked, as I handed my passport to him, that probably he had already been apprised of my going from Tientsin. It is amusing how little a Chinese official will admit to a foreigner, and to what subterfuges he will resort rather than commit himself to any definite statement. Mr. Li was determined that I should not get too much out of him, and his reply was simply, “Yes, probably I have, but I will look it up when I get back to my yamen.” And he also asked that he might be permitted to take my passport to the yamen to examine it, which permission was readily granted on his undertaking to WESTWARD HO TO HATA 183 return it forthwith, since I never moved anywhere in China without it. Business matters arranged, we gave ourselves up to a social hour or so in the old man’s company. We asked one another all sorts of questions, and discussed all possible topics that could occur to us, saving the one topic on which I would really have cared for information, viz., the relation of his brother to the Boxer movement. But the rising of 1900 is now so unpleasant a topic to discuss with Chinese officials, that with men of good taste it is everywhere “taboo,” so I must needs content myself with less personal and important subjects. He dolefully informed me that he had had seven sons, but that all save one were dead, and that one was a confirmed invalid. He ascribed it to the fact that his “ming pu hao” (fates were not propitious). I wondered how much opium- smoking on his part and theirs was responsible. He was very anxious to know if I could prognosticate fortunes from faces, and when I jokingly suggested that he was destined to become a governor of a pro- vince, if not a high official in Peking, he showed that his anxiety had some reality in it by turning from me to Mr. Dore, and asking him to divine what was in store for him in future days. I questioned him about the approaching visit of Prince Su, the date of whose arrival was still uncertain. He was still at the palace of the Haraschin prince some 70 miles away. The thing that seemed to have impressed the official most was that he had been required to provide no fewer than twenty baggage carts and forty passenger carts for the use of the prince and his staff, to say nothing of chair-bearers and all the motley crew of retainers and escort that draggle along in the wake of a high official. Nor 184 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA did the official know what purpose was intended to be served by the visit of the prince, and wanted me to enlighten him. I suggested that the prince would probably stay in Hata at least a fortnight, to which the answer, readily and frankly given, was, “I hope not; if he does I shall be ruined.” It was a case of “speed the departing guest,’ and as quickly as possible. Like a wise man, of course, Mr. Li had no criticisms to make on Prince Su himself, whom he highly extolled as one of the ablest and most upright of the Imperial advisers; but there was great reason in his fears as to the financial question, when it is remembered how a great man in China is always attended by a greater cavalcade of followers, whose ideals as to public duty are conspicuous by their absence, and whose practices with regard to acceptance of money presents are not so straight and honest as those of the man they follow. And even Prince Su, honest man that he is, could not guarantee that there would be no secret extortion as he passed from place to place. We finished our morning’s intercourse with Mr. Li by a plentiful manipulation of our cameras, taking several pictures of the official and his followers, and some in company with ourselves. He assured Messrs. Morley and Dore that their escort would be ready for them in an hour or so to take them on their journey north. Much to my regret, he insisted on conferring a similar honour (?) on me, and then shuffling into his cart, went back to his yamen, while we all agreed that, notwithstanding his Boxer relations, he himself was a really good sort. WAVED WOME ONLIMVIS GHMOCL CNV AUTOR, SSeisndiy \, “EE oe CHAPTER XII THE CITY OF THE CARNATION-PEAKED HILL MEssrs. Morley and Dore starting off that same day at 1 p.m. for their journey north to Wu T’an Ch’eng, left me at liberty to have a good look round the big city, whose official name signifies the “City of the Carnation-Peaked Hill.” This name is derived from a peculiar flesh-coloured hill that stands some 4 miles east of the city itself. The Mongols call the city Wu Lan Hata, which means exactly the same thing, and is much more commonly used than the official title. Hata, from the spectacular point of view, is distinctly disappointing. It is, indeed, the least interesting of all the large centres of trade outside the wall. There is nothing particular in the way of archi- tecture, the best of all being the Mahommedan mosque, an ornate structure mentioned by Abbé Huc as having caused great conflict with the authorities when built over sixty years ago, principally because it towers over everything else in the city. Next in importance to it is the temple to the God of War, but to find that you have to go into a side street remote from the main thoroughfares, while the Confucian temple is a very ordinary-looking structure hidden away in the south-eastern corner of the city. In the city itself there are shops and stores, stores 185 186 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA and shops, and practically nothing else. Yes, I forget, there is something else, and that meets you when you first enter the street, and it never leaves you till you leave the city itself. For Hata rejoices (save the mark) in a gutter some 5 feet wide that runs from end to end of the three principal streets, into which, judging by the odour it emits, all the refuse and filth of the city is thrown. Stagnant, fetid water stands with its thick coating of green, waiting to salute your olfactory nerves, and I was mighty thankful that my visit took place in early May and not in late July. The principal thing about Hata, then, is its shops and stores. Hata is said to possess “liu t’ang chieh” (six streets), but as a matter of fact there are only three main streets running east and west. The other three are simply the back lanes of the main streets, in which there is next to no business done. But in the main streets themselves there is every appearance of prosper- ous business. The buildings are not nearly so good nor so pleasing to see as those at T’a Tzu Kou or Pakou. There seems to be nothing in Hata for show: everything is utilitarian. Beauty, grace, art have no place in this town. It is money, money, money that dwells in the mind of the residents, and asserts itself in the very look of the busy streets. And though the width of the streets—ranging from 20 to 4go feet —prevents any appearance of crush and bustle, yet there is never lacking a considerable number of pedes- trians, mounted men, and people in carts who indicate the many methods of increasing wealth. Naturally, in a region so near to where China’s finest ponies are reared, sleek, well-fed animals are the rule of the road. The villager who has gone into market— be he Mongol or Chinese—is as likely as not to have a mount that would fetch a good price in Shanghai or CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 187 Tientsin. As one of my men said to me one day, “Tsai che-erh mei yu ka-ku ma” (Here there are no poor horses). And, contrary to usage and good manners within the Great Wall, here there is no de- scent from the pony in passing through the street. Nor is there any slackening of pace, as one might naturally expect in a busy thoroughfare. They rush along as though they were on a grass course, in a trotting match or a gallop, the latter for preference. You must look out for yourself when you go upon the street, for in all probability you will meet in a walk of ten minutes as many plump Chinese, or wild-looking Mongols, intent on nothing but their own business, and careless as to whether they ride you down if you get in their way. Hata is the largest and most populous of the cities in what, for convenience, we may call Inner Mongolia; larger even than either Pakou or Jehol. It is also by far the largest trade mart, the principal trade being done in live-stock, animal skins of all sorts, wheat and the other common cereals. How many business houses there are I cannot certainly say. The Chinese are accustomed to speak in round numbers, and as likely as not will offer you when you ask for figures the beautifully elastic and indefinite reply, “toa, toa” (Many, many). I tried several times to find out the number of business places in the town, but could get nothing more satisfactory than that there were consider- ably over one thousand. Probably from 1,400 to 1,500 would fit the facts. The population is correspondingly large, though one is struck with the comparatively small number of women to be seen in the streets. The proportion would not be one woman to one hundred men, emphasising the fact of the city being purely a business and not a residential centre. It is 188 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the custom with Chinese traders invariably to live far away from their homes, and never to have their fami- lies with them. The system is described as “chu ti- fang” (to live in a place), and periodical visits, their rarity or frequency determined by the distance from home, are paid by the several men to their homes in turn. Away in these distant places, where travel is both slow and expensive, it is no unusual thing for men to remain away from home for five, seven, and ten years ata time, with no more communication with those he has left behind him than occurs through the occasional chance of a letter being sent or received. The result at Hata was the paucity of women to be seen about the town, though the official informed me that all the residences of the people being in the “hu tung” (alley-ways) that run in and out like rabbit burrows in all parts of the town, the women were only to be seen there. As these quarters were not included in my peregrinations, it followed that my walks about the town were not cheered by many samples of the tender sex. One blessed thing about Hata from the foreigner’s point of view is that the people do not bother you with their curiosity and inquisitiveness. You may walk about the town at your pleasure and neither a man nor a child will follow you round. Everybody seems to be too busy to worry about you, and consequently you do not worry about them. Indeed, Hata is the only large town in China within my experience where the people treat the foreign visitor with a large mea- sure of indifference, and any man who is in danger of indulging over-conceit by reason of the attentions of the people in other places may be recommended to try Hata as a tonic to his pampered spirit and a sure corrective for his vanity. Only when you produce pes otf 2% i ae STREET SCENE AT HATA (THE LONG SIGNBOARD DENOTES A MEDICINE To face p, 189. SHOP). CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 189 your camera and attempt to set up the tripod on the streets will you get a few curious sightseers turning up from you know not where and disappearing you know not whither when you have moved away. At all other times my experience was that the people take no more than a casual interest in you, and you are as secure from being followed ‘as you would be if you strolled along the Embankment and tried to photograph a few of the passing scenes. Here also as everywhere else trade is entirely within the hands of Chinese from within the wall. There is not a single Mongol house of business in the town; nor one Mongol assistant, young or old, among the multitude of men who are handling the money and writing the accounts of all these shops. The reason for this lies not only in the natural simplicity of the Mongol and his consequent incapacity for trade, but from the interdiction of their princes, who, with an energy worthy of a better cause, absolutely prohibit their people from personally entering into business, tying them down for ever and a day to the pastoral occupations of their fathers. An influx of sound Socialism would do good in Mongolia, and who knows how soon it may come? One of the most delightful features of Hata was the multitude of “pai ling” (singing larks) that were hang- ing at the doors of the stores in the sunlight, whistling as though they would burst their throats. These beau- tiful birds, of which the Chinese are passionately fond, can imitate and reproduce almost any sound they hear, and never have I been in any place where they are found in such profusion. In the districts immediately surrounding Hata, particularly in the north towards Wu T’an Ch’-eng, these sweet singers are as common as spar- rows, and may be bought in any quantity at prices rang- 190 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA ing from ten to twenty five cents (twopence to sixpence). And in Tientsin the same bird is palmed off upon the long-suffering and much-squeezed foreign innocent for from five to ten dollars (ten to twenty shillings)! What sensible Chinaman would want to drive foreigners out of the country so long as that can be done? And if I had only been a merchant keen on a fine “corner” and had been able to afford transport for 500 miles, I should have been tempted to invest in a cargo of these larks, and so helped to pay the expenses of my trip when I got back to Tientsin. Among the most interesting of my experiences in Hata was my visit to the residence of the Mongol prince of the banner, or clan, of Weng Niu T’é, and my half-day’s intercourse with some members of his family. Abbé Huc always calls these princes by the more lofty name of king, but however that might flatter one’s vanity, it would not be strictly correct to copy him in that respect. All these princes—and their number seems legion—are the vassals of the Chinese Emperor ; and though in the olden days, when might was right more emphatically than it is now, they might have been regarded as kings, that day has long gone by, and even the title of Prince is something beyond what would be imagined from Western analogies. The Prince of Weng Niu T’é was not at home on the occasion of my visit to his home, having gone to meet Prince Su at Haraschin. But his two younger brothers were both at home, and had no sooner re- ceived my card of courtesy than they sent across to the inn, inviting me to dine with them the following morning at ten o’clock. I hope I may have credit for due modesty, and a sense of the fitness of things, when I say that I actually had the grace to decline the invitation. For one thing, a tramp such as I was is not prepared for full-dress ceremonies and “high society”; and for SECOND AND THIRD BROTHERS OF PRINCE OF WENG NIU TE, HATA. To face p. 199. CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 191 another and, in this case, more important reason, I much preferred to spend my spare time with the two foreign friends I had so unexpectedly met. The two young princes were good enough to express their dis- appointment, but requested that, if convenient, I might at least go across and have a chat with them. This I was very glad to do, and on the day after Messrs. Morley and Dore had left I had the pleasure of a full morning’s visit in the residence of the prince. The phrase “card of courtesy” used above requires some explanation. It is unfortunate that so many travellers in China seem not to understand what the unwritten laws of courtesy demand of them, and the result of their ignorance is that we are all classed more or less as barbarians, who know not the most elementary rules of good breeding. The Chinese proverb fixes the duty of the traveller. “Hsing k’é pai tso k’é” (The travelling guest must pay his respects to the sitting guest). That is, it is an absolute necessity that the man who is passing through any town should take the first step socially. Many foreign travellers aver that the Chinese love of ceremony is too elaborate and irk- some for them, and apt to become an intolerable nuisance ona journey. Hence they systematically decline to have anything to do with Chinese officials of any kind, and come and go through city and town without so much as a “by-your-leave” or a “how-do-you-do.” But for what I suggest a formal visit is not necessary. On arrival in any town, the first duty of the traveller is to send his servant with his card and “shu-pen” (large red document descriptive of individual concerned) to the official, explaining who he is, whence he has come, whither going, and on what message; state that time is limited and duties many; but that he sends his card to “ch’ing an, ch’ing an” (wish peace). That is 192 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA all that is needed. Like an air-cushion, there is really nothing in it. But it does ease the joints wonderfully, and it is one of those simple acts of courtesy that in China indicates the gentleman, and, from the Chinese point of view, the lack of which advertises the boor. The next step will be taken by the gentleman to whom the card has been sent. He can do one of several things. He may return his card to you, with a message of peace like yours: he may call personally to see you: or he may send you an informal invitation to spare an hour or so of your valuable time, and honour his despicable board by your gracious presence. In the first case both sides have done their duty, and the matter is at an end; in the second case, you are not bound to see him when he turns up at your inn, unless his coming is announced in such a way that to refuse to see him would be an insult. Should his servant say that his master has come to “pai k’é” (visit the guest), your proper answer, sent out by your servant, is, “Pu kan tang. Tang chia” (I am not worthy, I stop your chariot). But should the message brought to you be “pai hui” (visit and meet the guest), then only serious illness or the presence of some greater man with you can prevent your seeing him. In the third case you may please yourself whether you go or not; but on the principle that a dinner with an educated man in any country is an enlargement of experience, it is perhaps well, as a rule, to learn all you can across the table and the chopsticks. When I reached the prince’s residence I was at once ushered into the inner compound with due ceremony, and met outside a side room by a bright and most intelligent young fellow of thirty-six. This was the third brother of the Prince of Weng Niu T’é. He spoke beautiful Chinese’ with the accent of a cultured man, CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 193 in the Peking dialect; proved to be a man of wide- awake and inquiring mind; was simple in speech and unaffected in manners; and from first to last set himself to make the foreign guest feel perfectly at home. The room into which I was shown was one of the cleanest and tidiest I have seen anywhere in China. The wood- work was noticeable for the fine and delicate carving which even Chinese country carpenters can do so well. The walls and ceiling had been but newly papered. The floor was cleanly swept, and altogether there was an air of order and refinement about the place that was all the more welcome because so unusual. And what is true of the place was true of the people. How often in visiting a Chinese official the blatant tone and loud guffaws grate upon the nerves! Here the host speaks in quiet and cultured manner, and the servants— all slaves, of course—listening to all that is said, take their cue from their master, and their demeanour leaves nothing to be desired. I had long had the impression that the Mongols were a gentler, quieter race of people than the Chinese, and everything I saw and heard that day tended to confirm the impression. There was no show of superiority ; no attempt to overawe or overtalk the foreigner; no mere inquisitive curiosity in one’s clothes or occupations, but a friendly interest in all one’s experiences, and a flattering estimate of one’s abilities. I felt again that some of the qualities of the simple-hearted Mongols might with advantage be grafted on to the energy and virility of the Chinese. The one thing that did not please me in that home was the opium-pipe with its apparatus upon the brick bed. And it was with real regret I learned that our host indulges twice a day, and that the use of the drug is almost as common among the Mongols as among the Chinese. 14 194 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA The young prince, with his second brother, was equally ignorant of the purport of the visit of Prince Su as was the “hsien” official, What does it all mean ? they ask. There has never been such a mission from the Court before. Can I enlighten them concerning it? Rumours have come that the land of Mongolia is to be split up into different portions for different countries. Russia has already practically settled on her part; Japan is sure as to the portion she wants; and of course the other honourable countries are not likely to be unduly hesitant when it comes to dividing up a country. Is all this true? And are there to be railways built? And mines opened? And is my visit in any way connected with that of Prince Su? And am I not really an agent of my home Government? The old, old question that I have been asked a thousand times in China, and which on this occasion, for the one thousand and first time, I was able to answer in the negative. And then I was able to assure my listeners that Prince Su’s mission was more probably to unite and strengthen Mongolia than to divide her, and that the ultimate issue of his going there would be the bringing of Mongolia into line with the reform movements of China proper, all meant for the good of the people and the glory of the Empire. And these men listened as to a gospel, yet wondered whether all this would not mean a serious expense to them all. The building of railways, the opening of mines, the upkeep of armies, the organisation of schools, the reform of government, &c., &c., would they not mean men and money, and a hundred other things Mongolia and the Mongols did not at present possess? “ Yes, they may, probably will, but they also mean ultimate advancement for you all, the banishing of superstition by the bringing in of true knowledge. Perhaps some LAMA ABBOT OF WENG NIU T'E, HATA. To face p, 195. CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 195 day the best elements of your Lamaism will ally them- selves with the eternal principles of truth as displayed in Christianity, and a few generations may see won- derful changes in the condition, mental, social and religious, of the Mongol peoples.” My impromptu sermon was heard with manifest attention, and a few thoughts that had probably not been in their minds before found entrance that day; and even in remote Mongolia, where the wind sweeps over the trackless wastes, where the wild beasts lurk and the traveller finds his way by the stars, it may come that other voices will some day be heard crying as I did that day, “ Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.” Thus our conversa- tion was of a most serious character, but my princely host dubiously shook his head and murmured, “Chiu p’a pan pu liao” (I am just afraid it cannot be done). Among the members of the family whom I met that day was one old Lama, sixty years of age, with the most kindly and benevolent face I saw in all Mongolia. He was clothed in rich, yellow silk garments, clean as a new pin. His cheeks shone as though they had been touched with rouge or enamel, and his smile made him, in ladies’ language, “lovable.” He proved to be the real head of the prince’s family, not himself the prince, but, from the ecclesiastical standpoint, above him. He was the abbot of a large temple near the ancestral palace some 4o miles away to the north- west, and enjoyed a great reputation in the district as a physician. Unfortunately, the old gentleman could not speak Chinese, so we had to converse through interpreters. He regarded me as a child might regard a new and curious toy, and displayed a childlike interest in all I said and did. It was therefore with more than ordinary alacrity that I consented to his request to be 196 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA photographed. To make assurance doubly sure, I got two “snaps,” but while both are good, the bright smile of my lord the abbot is lacking in the picture, and he does not show up nearly so well as he did in actual life. The little son of the reigning prince, a bright boy of eleven years of age, also requested that I might photograph him. Poor little chap! I wondered what the future had in store for him. I felt as if I should just like to carry him off and give him a first-class Western education, that when the time should come for him to succeed his father in the government of’ his people he might have a wider outlook and a nobler ambition than have prevailed in the past history of the tribe. The princess was at home, and sent a message hoping that I would be good enough to photograph her little son. I replied that not only was I ready to do that, but would be very grateful if the little boy’s mother would allow me to photograph her with him. The answer sent was that she could not appear just then, having only risen from her bed, and being busy with her morning meal, and therefore not prepared to stand before guests. So I learned that in Mongolia, as in the fair lands of the West, it is not the thing to visit ladies in the forenoon. There was a pretty slave-girl passing to and from the princess’s room, with her food and the empty dishes as each course was got through. I wanted badly to “snap” that girl, since I had failed with her mistress, but she was too busy to do anything more than steal sly glances at the visitor as she passed across the yard, and positively, though I had been so bold with the mistress, my courage quite failed me when I wanted to ask the maid to stand still for a minute. I had therefore to be content with a picture SON AND HEIR OF PRINCE OF WENG NIU T’E, HATA. To face p. 196. CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 197 of the room in which the princess was secluded, and from which probably she was having a good look at me. Leaving the prince’s residence, I went further along the same street to have a look at the temporary residence fitted up for Prince Su and his staff. As we went along my attention was drawn to what had the appearance of wooden pagodas, or miniature Eiffel Towers. They were the stock-in-trade of the local cartwright, who, in place of packing his axle-trees on the ground, piles them up, pyramid-like, in the streets, to dry. Prince Su was to inhabit the school premises while he stayed in Hata, and the whole affair looked most tawdry and bizarre. The space before the doors had been roped off, and both carts and pedestrians had to pass along on the farther side of the road. Above the door hung a couple of red-cloth covered lanterns, and these, with a few red streamers more or less attenuated and dirty, were the extent of the decorations in honour of the great man. Right opposite the main door is one of the largest and most pungent cesspools of the town, and I wonder how His Highness will enjoy that, and whether his mission includes the regulation of sanitary matters in Hata. And then I remembered that Prince Su lived regularly in Peking, the city of stinks and smells par excellence, so Hata would probably smell as pungently as ever both during and after his visit. Poor Hata! Mention of the school premises leads me to speak of the schools themselves. Not that much can be said about them, for the simple reason that in Hata they can scarcely be said to exist. On the official’s own admis- sion, there were not more than twenty students in the elementary school, and when that is said you have said the last word in connection with the educational enter- 198 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA prise in Hata at the time of my visit. If I were asked the reason of that I should be disposed to say again, Business! Business!! Business!!! It may seem strange to charge on astute business men the responsi- bility for lack of initiative in educational matters. Not when you see Hata, and remember that all the business men are from a distance, and that few, if any, have their families there with them. That means a scarcity of boys in the city itself. And the men of Hata have not yet had the social conscience educated up to the point of finding their own in the general good, and if you asked them, would probably retort by asking you why they should pay to educate the children of other people, when they have their own families to feed and educate in some distant place within the wall. Probably it is no exaggeration to say that the illiteracy of the population surrounding Hata is much greater than in any other territory of equal size, either within or without the wall. And so poor Mr. Li, when I rally him on the backward condition of his district educationally, and suggest more strenuous efforts for the rising genera- tion, dolefully shakes his head and replies, “Hai ya, Hai Mu Shih, pu yung yi” (Ah, Pastor Hedley, it is not easy). The remainder of my second day in Hata I spent in developing films and printing pictures for the princes who had entertained me in the morning. Just before dusk the third brother paid a call on me, and I was able, greatly to his delight, to give him copies of the photos I had taken in the forenoon. All day long I had heard the men in the compound measuring out corn for dis- patch to places further south, and as dusk falls I quite miss the melodious sing-song drawl as they have called out the quantities. Five or six carts come into the yard, each with seven magnificent mules, to take away this To face p. 198. ¥ Cis a v zi ie et STREET SCENE IN HATA. (Timbers piled up are to make axle-trees for carts.) CITY OF CARNATION-PEAKED HILL 199 same grain the next morning, and for a time the yard is busy with sprawling mules enjoying a roll in the dry soil before they turn to their troughs and corn. A lovely lark, that all day long had hung outside my door, had ceased his singing and his imitation of cat-calls, and closed his eyes in sleep. Now all is quiet. And I too must sleep, for to-morrow as the dawn comes we must be off into the unknown districts that are to lead us to the Shira-muren and K’u Lu Kou. But one thing more I must tell for it is such a rare thing in China, as indeed anywhere. I was just happily into my first slumber when Shu Feng came to tell me that the innkeeper refused to accept any payment for the rooms we had occupied during our stay. Unprece- dented experience! The reasons adduced are, first, we are a set of people who are not making, but spending, money as we go, and they would not care to add to our expenses by charging for the rooms, to the use of which we have been so gladly welcome ; and secondly, being a large party, with both animals and men, the food we have eaten and paid for has been enough to recompense them for all we have had. So we meet their generosity with more, and ordering Shu Feng to give the servants of the house an extra gratuity, I turned over to sleep, deter- mined to give the Inn of Original Justice a free advertise- ment. Whenever you visit Hata, be sure you put up in the Kung Yuan Tien. CHAPTER XIII INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY I was awakened at 3.30 on the following morning by the sound of rain so heavy that a start just then was impossible, and I was not sorry for the extra three hours’ sleep we got. At 6.30, when we did rise, it had ceased raining, but all day long it continued dull and cold. The official had fulfilled his unsolicited promise of an escort, and though it went sorely against my own wishes to add a couple of extra men to my company, who were not likely to be either useful or ornamental, there seemed nothing to be done but bow to His Honour’s wishes. The two men were decent fellows enough, both well mounted, and each armed with a short carbine, the locks, as is usual with Chinese soldiers on the march, being wrapped up in red calico. We left Hata at 8 a.m., going out through the east gate, but turning north-east as soon as we got clear of the street and meeting, when we had gone a few li, the small stream known as the Shih La Ka Ho. This stream appears on some old tentative maps as the Ying Ch’ing Ho, the name of a stream which is found due west of Hata. Whatever may be true of the region west of Hata, it is certain that there is no Ying Ch’ing Ho near that city itself ; nor is any such name known to any of the resi- dents of the district. Some 30 miles north of Hata there is 200 INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 201 a narrow stream known as the Yang Ch’ang Ho, which may be the stream intended, but it nowhere flows within touch of the city itself. At Po Li Huo Shao, near where this stream flows into the Lao Ho, 60 miles north-east of Hata, its bed is no more than from 60 to 8o feet wide. It is only correct then to state that Hata stands on neither the Ying Ch’ing Ho (which there is non-existent) nor on the Yang Ch’ang Ho (which is over 30 miles away at its nearest point), but on the Shih La Ka Ho, which flows past the west and north gates of the city, and which bears as a name the Chinese transliteration of some Mongol name and appears on the new German map as the Sircha Ho. We crossed this small river at a village named Pao Ch’ang Ying Tzu, 1o miles from Hata, where we found the stream much deeper than anything we had so far seen. After fording the river, we had to cross a crazy- looking bridge which stretched over what proved to be an ingenious irrigation canal, diverted from the main stream of the river, and enclosed within high embank- ments. There were openings at intervals through which the water is conducted at will to the fields, and especially to the wheat-plots. It is a novel and unique arrange- ment, being fully 30 feet above the actual bed of the river, but requiring the constant attention of the villagers, lest it burst its banks, and run again to seek the stream from which it had been diverted. The water flows fully 10 feet deep and is carried along in a swift current. Travelling along by the side of this miniature canal, we met a picturesque caravan of Mongols, all, save one gentleman, mounted on rough and shaggy ponies. He was evidently the leader of the company, and was seated cross-legged in a Chinese cart, enjoying spasmodic whiffs from the water-pipe he held in his hands. He 202 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA was a dissipated, blear-eyed-looking man of forty-five or forty, but gave us a friendly salute as we went past, and called out to ask where we were going. We learned that he was a representative of the Ao Han Banner, on his way to Hata to join in the reception to Prince Su. Our midday meal that day we had at a dirty little village named Pa Chia (Eight Homes), and from there made an uneventful march to Yuan Mao Lung, 22 miles from Hata. Here we found quarters in an inn so small that our party occupied the whole of the available space. Seven miles across the river (the Shih La Ka Ho) was the walled town of Chien Ch’ang Ying, where we had stayed a few days before; and a little more than a mile north of us was the residence of a Mongol duke, at a place called Shao Kuo Ti (Distillery Land). Thursday, May roth, proved to be one of the most interesting and, in its latter part, quite the most exciting day of our trip. Emerging from the little inn at Yuan Mao Lung at 5.10 a.m., we took a bearing to a high hill which proved eventually to be 13 miles away in an almost straight line. The road lay over a vast sandy plain, in which there were found only two small hamlets in a march of 11 miles, with a few stunted willows that appeared half-ashamed of their existence. We had been going about an hour, when one member of our escort espied a couple of small red deer some distance ahead of us. It appears that they haunt these sandy plains, being only occasionally disturbed by the natives in the winter. So far we had carried our shot-gun on one of the mules, and not had a chance of firing a single shot. It was not likely that I could get near enough to these deer to do them any harm with a shot-gun, But even a missionary may have his INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 203 moments of sportsman-like ambitions, especially when fresh meat is rare enough to have become a luxury, so I got out the gun, and proceeded to crawl slowly over the ground towards what we now made out to be four of these deer. Unfortunately for me, there was practi- cally no cover, and my progress was necessarily very slow. Then the deer grew somewhat alarmed at the sight of my caravan moving steadily down the road some distance away, and they began to move away from where I was. Over-eager, I quickened my pace, and of course only succeeded in frightening them still more. Worse still, I was fool enough to fire at them when I had scarcely got within range, so the net result of that incident was a couple of wasted shots. They ran away, however, no more than some four hundred yards, and then stopped to gaze round to where the shotshad come from. There was less cover than ever by this time, however, and realising that to follow them would be useless, I left them to their wonderment, and hastened on after the caravan. Another mile or two, and we espied another herd of seven deer. This time, with the assistance of the two soldiers, I tried stalking them, but one of the men bungled, and after a plucky attempt by the other man to drive them in my direction they fled at top speed away towards the east, and we saw them no more. There is plenty of sport there, however, for an experienced “ gun” who would not be compelled, as we were, to hurry on with his daily march. The Chinese shoot the deer as they shoot ducks. They dig a hole in the ground, bank it up with sods all round, leaving a few rifle-holes only, and then they will lie round all day, and wait for the unsuspecting animals that thus fall an easy prey to the patient “sportsman.” But an Englishman is not a Chinese, and to lie in a ditch all day is not quite the Western idea of sport. 204 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Yet as these deer are so plentiful within only 20 miles of Hata, it would seem that enthusiastic sportsmen might do worse than write the district down as worth a visit. As a decent inn was somewhat too far for one march, we decided for our midday meal to invade a small coal-mine that we had to pass on the way. This mine was situated on the Tung Yuan Pao Shan (The Eastern Hill of Original Treasures), thus distinguished from the mine I had visited on the previous Sunday, which is called the Western Hill. To reach the mine and the manager’s office we ‘had to climb up the side of the hill for some 400 feet. Once there, we got decent accommodation in the manager’s own rooms, and had our several meals in peace and comfort. There were several openings in that hill that might be designated as shafts, and from all of which coal is produced. The rule is that each little company shall have two shafts, so securing a through draught of air, and each must pay annually to the official at Ch’ih Feng Hsien the sum of taels 180 (about £22). At the western hill, where the works are much more extensive and the quantity of coal worked is much larger, the yearly tribute demanded by His Honour is taels 2,240 (about £270). And a sore point with the men who run the mines is that with the collection of these taxes the responsibility of the Chinese official begins and ends. There are no deputies appointed by him to overlook the work: no anxiety displayed as to whether the workings prove worthless or lucrative. All he does is to require that every year the sums named are paid over to him. If the managers make more profits, so much the better for them; if less, so much the worse. The official is sublimely indifferent to anything other than his dues. It need not be said how unpopular these taxes are HEAD STEWARD OF MONGOLIAN PRINCE WITH IMPERIAL CART. INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 205 with the people who work these primitive mines, when I say that while coal has been obtained from these hills ever since the time of the Emperor Ch’ien Lung (1736-1796), the taxes have only been imposed since the organisation of the new Board of Commerce in Peking. It is not to be wondered at, then, that the mine managers fail to see the advantages of “pien fa” (reform), which displays itself only in a mere collection of dues arbitrarily imposed, and which formerly went to swell the profits shared by those interested in the schemes. The coal at the Tung Yuan Pao Shan is of even poorer quality than that at the western hill, and finds but a very limited sale. The Shih La Ka Ho puts a natural barrier in the way of its being sold at Hata, which town purchases its supplies entirely from the more adjacent mine across the river. The Lao Ho prohibits large sales on the north-east side, so that for custom the little mine is dependent on the villages within a comparatively small radius. Our friend the overseer, therefore, would not admit that he is engaged in building up a fortune out of the treasures of the earth. “ What can be done with only twenty men ?” he asked ; “with poor coal and restricted sales?” “How is it possible that we should fa ts’ai (amass wealth)?” And not being prepared just then with an answer, I had to leave it at that. When our meal was finished, and we had had a very welcome rest, I asked permission to descend and see the workings in the mine. Never before had so favourable an opportunity come to me of seeing over a Chinese mine, and the comparison with my re- collections of my early days promised to be in- teresting. Marisami, my Indian companion, in response to my invitation, expressed his willingness to go, but 206 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA not one of our Chinese assistants would have anything to do with it. The philosophic inquiry with which they responded to my invitation was, “ Hsia na ko kan shen moa ?” (What is there to go down there for ?) They felt safer above ground, and had no spirit of restless curiosity spurring them on. So the trip was undertaken by Marisami and myself, escorted by the manager of the mine. Arrived at the shaft, round which a few ox-carts were waiting to be supplied with coals, we were each provided with a small and smoky lamp. We had to wait a few minutes to allow a couple of men to come up with loads of coals. Each man carried three baskets full of coal, one before and two behind him. How they manage to carry such heavy loads up those crazy steps passes my comprehension, and I felt thankful that it had not fallen to my lot to be born to be a miner in that little pit. I turned to the manager, and using my best Chinese, tried to show him how much time and labour would be saved by the rigging up of an endless rope of some kind, which could be turned by a couple of men at a windlass, much as is done by them regularly in deep wells. The only answer I got to my exhortation to “hsiang ko fa-tzu” (think out a plan) is “hsiang pu ch’i” (cannot afford any new plan). He could not be persuaded to see that such a saving of time would mean a saving of money, and so they will continue still their laborious method of bringing the coals to bank. We had no sooner begun our descent of the steps, I following in close behind the manager, than I found that poor Marisami was woefully nervous. This was quite his first experience of a mine, and he trembled so that he could scarcely hold his lamp in his hand, and after a few steps began in a manner to crawl down, sitting first on each step, grasping the slippery poles with INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 207 both hands, and so “letting himself down gently.” Alarmed lest in his excess of nerves he should slip and damage both himself and us, I turned and suggested to him that if he did not like it, he should return to the surface. That remark provided, as I intended it should, the needed tonic. To suggest that he was afraid was to touch his dignity, and made him determined to see the thing through. He replied, therefore, that all was well, and that he was bent upon going all the way. One of the men at the bank considerately relieved him of his lamp, and his two hands being thus quite free, he got down to the bottom in safety. Poor Marisami! He undoubtedly had a big scare, but there was nothing of the coward in him. And he was just as anxious as I was to prove that he belonged to the “sahib” tribe, which knows no fear, and is found in men of both black and white skin. Arrived at the bottom, we found ourselves in a narrow alleyway 2 feet broad and not more than 4 feet high, along which we slowly made our way in stooping postures. The way was exceedingly well propped, there being strong posts on either side, at the most 3 feet apart, and many of them still closer. At one point the roof was so low that I could only get through by wriggling like a snake on my stomach. The Orientals, who seem to possess the acrobatic faculty of tying them- selves up in knots, managed to pass this spot with comparative ease. In the mine there were no signs of water, and here, as at the western hill, the custom is to immediately abandon the workings at the first sign of water in any great quantity. The air was wonderfully fresh and pure, considering that we were underground, the current between the two shafts being both easy and regular. In all we visited three workings, but there was not a man at work in the mine. They had all gone 208 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA to the bank for their morning meal. It was instructive to note that the “face’”’ and manner of working the coal seemed practically identical with what I remember of the coal-mines at home, and that the greatest care is exercised in the propping of the roof. I quite forgot while there to ask whether any blasting was done or not, but saw no appearance of any. We returned to the light by the second shaft, having completed our round, including two short rests, in thirty minutes. As we came up, I counted the steps, and made them two hundred. The overseer contended that there were two hundred and forty, but my figures were correct, and my conclusion was, that though there may be some elements of danger in a smooth-running cage worked by a powerful engine, that method of descending and ascending is much more preferable to the tiresome and slow method of that old Mongolian mine. Returning to the manager’s room, and getting our dirty hands washed, I made myself immortal in that place by presenting him with a new Hongkong dollar (2s.), which I suggested should be expended in the purchase of a little “ch’a-yeh” (tea-leaves) for the men. He put it away on one side, saying he would rather keep it as a “pao-pei” (precious thing), as they never see those bright, pretty coins in those parts. Fancy! Immortality for a dollar! It could not have been more cheaply bought. It was after we left the coal-mine and its simple-hearted manager that we met with the most exciting episode on our whole trip. We left the hill at 11.45, descended by the way we had gone up, and joined once more the road along which we had travelled during the morning, making direct for the bank of the Lao Ho. There again we were to resume our interrupted survey of the river. Chien Ch’ang Ying lay away to our west across the river. We reached the Mongol village of Chuang T’ou Ying INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 209 T’zu, and while waiting there for the mules to come up, were joined by two mounted soldiers from Chien Ch’ang Ying. They were carrying a message from their camp to another camp about 30 miles further north, and after a few minutes’ chat with our escort and ourselves, they went on ahead of us along the road we had to follow. We had then done exactly 43 li (14 miles) that day, and taking the new bearing rendered necessary by the turn in the road parallel with the river, we went forward, intend- ing to spend the night at the only village which boasts an inn, Ha La Mu T’ou. We trudged along the bank of the river, and when only a few li from the village I sent on our younger soldier to bespeak rooms for us at the inn. We followed quietly and unsuspiciously in his tracks. We had reached the southern section of Ha La Mu T’ou, and were only a mile from the inn, I took a drink from my water-flask, and finding the water quite insipid, I poured it out upon the ground, comfortable in the thought that within twenty minutes we should be settled for the day. What happened after that taught me never again to part with water, however insipid, till I am actually where fresh supplies can be obtained. For through the trees in front of us we suddenly saw the two soldiers who had gone ahead with their message, and now, accompanied by our younger soldier, riding back at a tolerably quick pace. I turned inquiringly to the soldier alongside of me, to hear him say, “There must be some serious reason for this.” In great consternation the three soldiers joined us, and declared that further progress was impossible. Forty brigands were reported as being in the inn at Ha La Mu T’ou, towards which we had been making, and for us to go on there would simply be to walk into a trap with our eyes open, and would mean the loss of our arms and animals, if not worse. They 15 210 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA advised an instant retreat, and thinking they meant retreat to the village we had just passed through, I turned back with them to discuss the matter more quietly. There was no doubt but that they had a heavy scare on, but when I found that their scare was enough to make them want to push on past the small village, I called a halt, dismounted from my horse, and demanded to know the full facts of the case, and what they were proposing todo. Then all four began speaking at once, warning me of the danger to life and limb at the hands of despe- rate men, entreating me not to be obstinate, and not to delay retreat to some safe spot till the brigands had moved off. “But how do you know certainly that there are any brigands there?” I asked, to be told that as they were nearing the village some old man had warned them to be careful, as there were some forty bandits even then seated in the inn having their meal. “Well, what of that?” I asked again. “I have no quarrel with the brigands, nor they with me, and if that is the extent of your information, I am for going on.” “ What of that ?” shrieked the elder of my escort ; “is the honourable pastor not aware who these men are, and what they do? Does he not know that we are but four against forty, and that at the very best, if we meet them, they will take from us our ponies and our rifles, if not our lives ?” “Well, then, you can retreat if you like, but I am an Englishman, and an Englishman never runs away from an enemy, especially one he cannot see. You can go back, and we will continue our journey without you.” So I spoke, and Marisami and my own men declared their willingness to follow where I was ready to go. But those four soldiers averred that it was my life, and not theirs, that they were concerned about; that two of INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 211 them were responsible for my safety; and that, while it was a matter of indifference to any one whether they lived or died, the serious questions in the affair gathered round my well-being. For that they must at least have credit that in all their protestations and appeals, regard for my personal safety seemed uppermost. And it is, per- haps, somewhat ungenerous to suggest that they counted on my safety ensuring their own. And yet, I am bound to add that I have never seen any men in such a mortal “funk” before. The only occasion that comes any- where near it in my recollection is of the Boxer time, when in a Chinese junk on the Shantung coast we were caught in a storm, most of us rendered helpless by sea- sickness, and our escort of Chinese soldiers lay round on the deck, sick and terrified, crying for their mothers to come and save them. And now I was faced with a difficulty of a kind I had never known in all my life before. It seemed such a cowardly thing to run away from an unseen enemy, who probably would not be an enemy if we met him. It seemed as if one would forfeit one’s self-respect by turning tail in that craven fashion, and that even one’s own mother would be ashamed of the man who acted so. And, on the other hand, we were certainly no match for forty, or even twenty men, whose lives in any case being already forfeit, were careless whether they died early or late, and would probably prefer to fall in a “scrap” rather than be ignominiously led to decapi- tation outside a city wall. Counting in the two soldiers whom we had fallen in with on the road, we were only ten men. The four soldiers were all armed ; I had my revolver now loaded in all six chambers, and strapped round my waist ; Marisami had my shot-gun and about a dozen cartridges at hand, while my Chinese assist- ants were all unharmed, and would be useless in any 212 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA encounter. The problem was, therefore, not easy of solution. My heart revolted from an undignified and cowardly retreat. But had I the right to expose to needless danger the six Chinese lads who had come with me, not because they wanted to come, but because I had hired them? Had I the right to disregard the promises I made to some who do not appear in this narrative, not to run into any unnecessary peril ? At the risk, therefore, of being dubbed a coward by my readers I have to confess that, after a long struggle with my own feelings and judgment, I consented to be ruled by our escort, insisting only that one man should remain behind for a little while, send forward some villager to make inquiries, and then bring us the fullest information that could be obtained. And so the retreat was ordered, and for the only time on the trip our muleteer woke up out of his stupor, and urged on his mules at a rate much beyond their normal pace. Oh, the misery of that march! It seemed to me the burial of every manly sentiment I had ever cherished in my breast. I hated myself for consenting to it. I wanted some one to come and kick me for a paltry coward. I really believe that a good kick would have done me good just then, though I was in such a non-angelic temper that I would not have answered for the consequences to the man who had kicked me. I learned that day that it is one thing to lie back in your easy chair and indulge in the thread- bare platitude that “discretion is the better part of valour”: it is quite another thing to persuade yourself into the philosophy of the thing when you are placed as I then was. Was it part of our punishment that just as we hurried back a fierce wind-storm sprang up? And were the minute particles of sand dashed in our faces like stinging pellets sent to chastise us for our cowardice? It suited with my mood to imagine them INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 213 as such, and it was a luxury to feel that the unworthy action was meeting such immediate punishment. Very soon the soldier we left behind overtook us with confirmation of the news about the bandits. It did not occur to me at the time, but I have thought since that he was remarkably quick in rejoining us, and I now very much doubt whether he had sent any man to seek information or not. Quite probably he hung about the village where we left him for a time, and then mounted his pony and came after us at a gallop. There seemed nothing for it, therefore, but to retreat to Chien Ch’ang Ying, and that village was 10 miles from where our march was interrupted. And there we arrived at 4.30, tired, hot, thirsty, and mad at the thought that we had been checked even temporarily on our northward tramp. Going along the road, under the shade of the willow- trees that formed a grateful and graceful avenue over our heads, and keeping a sharp lookout on all sides, we suddenly became conscious that we were being followed by a stranger on horseback. Two of the soldiers turned back to meet him, and found him to be a Mongol who pretended not to understand Chinese. He was very well mounted, but unarmed, and as soon as our men had finished with him, he turned away to the left, and made towards the river at a sharp trot. Of course, the soldiers declared he was a bandit scout, and the manner in which he hurried to get clear of them was somewhat confirma- tory of their notion. Later on, when we had forded the Shih La Ka Ho, and were waiting for Yuan Min to come up with us, the mules went ahead in charge of Shu Feng, my servant. Some 400 yards away from the river we saw five men riding towards the Lao Ho. I took them to be soldiers from the camp, but learned later that Shu Feng had 214 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA fallen in with them. He avowed they were brigands. One only was armed, but they asked him where he had come from. He made some evasive answer, and they then inquired whether he knew if there were any brigands still in Ha La Mu T’ou. He truthfully replied that he had not passed through that village, and after a few more questions the men made off to the river, towards the ford to which the unknown Mongol had just before ridden so swiftly. We concluded that these five belonged to the scouting party, and that probably the solitary Mongol we had seen was on his way to meet them. By 4.30 we were in Chien Ch’ang Ying, staying again in the inn we had occupied on the previous Saturday night. The Chinese are by nature loquacious, and the reason for our arrival was soon noised abroad, and caused no little excitement in the town. That excitement was increased when a little while later a cart containing three or four women turned up from a village just west of Ha La Mu T’ou; they had fled from their homes on hearing of the proximity of the bandits. Still later, a cart drawn by seven splendid black mules, and laden with timbers, stopped in the street opposite our inn. I went out and spoke with the carter myself. His tale was quite clear and consistent, namely, that there were brigands, but they had shrunk from forty to seventeen ; that at noon they had forded the river, had their meal at the inn, and then ridden off north; that he (the carter) had heard of their presence in the neighbourhood, and fearing for his animals, had driven out of the main road, and remained in hiding till he thought the coast was clear ; and that, finally, the two soldiers we had met, and whom we had left behind in a grove near the Shih La Ka Ho, had been waiting there still when he passed, but on hearing his report they had mounted their horses and gone forward on their errand. And so we had fled from INTO THE BRIGAND COUNTRY 215 a set of men who, when we were debating whether we should turn tail or not, had probably already left the inn we were making for, We had toiled 10 weary miles for nothing! Worse still, I had played the coward, and all for—nothing ! Whether the soldiers we had as escort were not really a menace rather than a protection ? Whether the brigands would interfere with a party like ours, even if we met them ? were some of the questions I now began to ask myself. And the saving element of sardonic humour came to meas I heard the young sergeant of the town, who commands the large force of two men, call out in a tone of high authority, “Second in command, see that our rifles are ready in case of need!” That one order, and its imperative tone, lifted me out of my despair and made me smile once more. CHAPTER XIV IN THE REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER HEAVY rain as I awoke at three o’clock next morning reminded me that our animals were all standing out in the yard without cover, so I called out for Shu Feng to get up and have them placed under shelter. The mule- teer replied that there was no place where they could be put in the yard, and when I reminded him of the “men- lou” (gate-house), he informed me that that place was already occupied by the two ponies belonging to our noble escort. That is a typical Chinese trick. One would scarcely believe that these two men, awakened, like me, by the sound of the rain, had got up from their beds, tied up their horses under the gate-house for shelter, and then gone back to sleep, careless of what became of our animals, I very soon had Shu Feng hustled up then, and insisted that some place of shelter be found for Hansl and Neddy. Half asleep, he tumbled out, and for some minutes after I heard him trying to drive pegs into the wall of the gate-house, to which they might be tied. Evidently he could not manage it alone, for he presently arrived in the inn-room itself, bringing the soaked animals with him. Then one of the soldiers condescended to rise and lend him a hand, and in a few minutes I had the satisfaction of turning over for another sleep, assured that my uncomplaining pony and his little friend Neddy were not exposed to the storm. 216 REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 217 We were all so thoroughly exhausted with our exertions of yesterday, that we overslept ourselves, and it was well on to eight o’clock before I realised where I was. The rain had stopped then, and I decided to stay no longer in Chien Ch’ang Ying, brigands or no brigands, and in- formed the escort that at the very least I intended to make Ha La Mu T’ou, and learn all I could regarding the bandits from the innkeeper. Much to my surprise, the soldiers had got a fresh supply of courage over-night, and suggested that we should go io li (3 miles) further, and make for Ta Pei Hai, the limit of Ch’ih Feng Hsien in that direction, and where a force of soldiers was to be found. We therefore all had breakfast in comfort, and by 11 a.m. had started out on the road along which we had fled from an unseen foe the previous day. We had gone but a short distance when we met a young fellow dressed as an ordinary villager, who turned out to be a soldier from Ta Pei Hai, going with a message to Chien Ch’ang Ying. From him we learned that the robbers, having finished their meal at Ha La Mu T’ou, had ridden off to spend the night at Tung Yuan Pao Shan, in the very quarters we had occupied at midday for our meal, and where we had descended the mine. Had we left the hill by the northern instead of by the southern path, we should probably have met them face to face—with what results, who can say ? Further on we met two more soldiers, one of them a young officer, and the other his attendant. They had a wonderful tale to tell of the fight that had taken place twelve days before at a place called Ma Chia Tzu, when they said they had killed seven of the robbers. These two men were both splendidly mounted on fine grey horses, but Lieutenant Kao proudly showed us his saddle with blood still on it, and a small hole right through it, caused by a bullet, so he said, which had killed a 218 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA specially good horse he had owned. He also told us that one bullet had lodged in his turban during the fight, but that the losses of the Imperial troops had been no more than three horses killed. I hope I may not be thought unduly suspicious, but I felt that all this young officer told us had to be taken with a large pinch of salt. I have never met a braver man than the average Chinese soldier—before and after the event. And I have never seen a more humiliating display of arrant cowardice than I had been treated to the previous day by those two members of my escort, who now enjoyed so prodigiously Lieutenant Kao’s boasting of his own prowess, and dis- cussed the ultimate capture and slaughter of every brigand in the territory with such rare gusto. Lieutenant Kao assured us that the road was quite clear and quiet up to Hsiao Ho Yen (The Small River-bank), and the spirits of my escort were up above the tree- tops. For myself, | hung my head for very shame as we rode through the village from which we had retreated yesterday. I felt as if the very children would deride me as one of those who “p’ao liao” (run:away) at the first scent of danger. At Ha La Mu T’ou we stopped at the inn for a few minutes, just long enough to have a chat with the old innkeeper. His tale was quite direct, and given without any adornment or fancy, and was to this effect. In the morning he had been going to the market at Hsiao Ho Yen. He had crossed the river from the west to the east side, when he observed coming towards him a company of mounted men. As they had both trumpeters with them and banners flying, he took them for Imperial troops, and dismounted from his donkey to let them pass. There were over thirty of them, mostly Mongols, and he knew them at once for brigands. A few passed him without speaking, and then one asked REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 219 him where he had come from. His cautious reply was, from west of the river. They then inquired where the ford was, to which, in Chinese characteristic fashion, he replied that that depended on where they wanted to go. Their answer was that they were bound for Hata to meet somebody. He gave them the necessary direction, and without any more ado they allowed him to pass on. Arrived at Ha La Mu T’ou, two of them turned up at the inn, and asked which was the home of the Ka family, the wealthiest family in the settlement. Directed there, seventeen of them went and demanded food for them- selves and animals, stayed from noon till about the time we were entering the other end of the village, and then rode off to spend the night at Tung Yuan Pao Shan. They had done no wrong to any one, but had been content to demand food for men and beasts, and then quietly take themselves away. It seemed quite clear that they were part of the dispersed bands that had fought with the troops at Ma Chia Tzu, and had fled in this direction to reassemble at some other point when the chase became less keen. I learnt later that it was not the soldiers they had fought with and fled from, but that tale will come in due course. We continued our march in a drizzling rain to Ta Pei Hai (Great North Sea) and found quarters in the hospit- able home of a Mr. Yang Yi. He wasa simple, unaffected countryman, but a man of considerable means, having some interests in the mine we had visited. He kept a fine stud of horses, one, a superb dapple-grey stallion, on which I cast envious eyes, but the price was far beyond my purse. Passing through a village named Lien Chia Wo P'u, 2 miles before we reached Ta Pai Hai, I saw a man this day not more than thirty years of age, with an ugly protrusion on his left eye, over which he had covered a 220 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA dirty blue rag, hiding the eyeball from view. The protrusion appeared to be fully 4 inches long, and almost as thick as my wrist. I asked him how long it had been in that state, and in an offhand manner he replied, “ About twenty years.” How it was caused I did not stop to inquire, but he seemed supremely indifferent to it, and I thought what a fine specimen he would have made for a demonstration in Edinburgh, We had a comfortable and pleasant time with our simple-minded host at Ta Pei Hai, who expressed himself as highly honoured by the visit of foreigners, the very first, in his district and to his home. He was emphati- cally of opinion that we could manage to get along without any interference from the bandits, but our escort were particularly anxious that before going for- ward we should cross the river to Hsiao Ho Yen, where there was a strong force of soldiers, and where, according to the terms of their instructions from Hata, they were to turn us over to some other escort. What they were most anxious about was to get rid of us, and hurry back to Hata; and since I had seen them the day before, I had concluded that the parting would be quite unattended, on either side, with sorrow. Next morning, travelling in the new district of Chien P’ing, we were on the road before six, and reached Hsiao Ho Yen by 8.30. Here we crossed the river on a small ferry, and found ourselves in a market town of much larger size than anything we had seen for some time, As soon as we got settled in an inn, I sent my card to the officer in charge of the troops, with an intimation to the effect that, unless the roads were really dangerous for travellers like us, we did not desire any escort; but that, if there were danger sufficiently great to justify an escort at all, then it would have to be adequate for real protec- tion. To send two or even four men with us seemed REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 221 to me to be worse than allowing us to travel alone. I have scarcely patience enough to tell of the apology of an officer who came to see me in response to my message. The major, whose name was Wen, was said to be in Hata meeting Prince Su. In his place there came a poor shiftless creature who rejoiced in the name of Hsii Kuo Shiin. He was fifty years of age, and his rank was that of lieutenant, but the thing that impressed me most was neither his rank nor his age, but his bleary eyes and his whisky-breath. He informed me that it was not in his power to grant an escort, an intimation that just suited me, and in reply I told him we should be pleased to go on our way alone. But he suggested that the road north was uncertain, and that I had better send a messenger to the civil official at Chien P’ing Hsien, and wait there at least three days till a new escort was sent from that city. At that I simply laughed in his face, and asked him if he thought I had gone so far simply to kick my heels in a Chinese inn, while waiting for an escort I was not at all anxious to have. But he insisted that he could not allow me to go forward without escort. “That” said I, “is your business, not mine. Give me an adequate escort, and I am off within the hour.” “ But I have no authority to do any such thing,” he protested, and I ridiculed him by asking who had authority, if he had not, and how it came that, according to his own statements, he had authority to stop me going forward, but not authority to afford me needful protection? On that he went off to consult with the assistant at the camp, while I tried to finish my interrupted breakfast. Soon he returned with the brilliant suggestion that I should remain in the town till Major Wen returned from Hata. That was as useless a proposal as that I should communicate with the Chien P’ing official, and I asked him who would reimburse me for my daily expenses while I waited upon his pleasure. 222 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA I repeated my intention to go on forthwith, and then added that, unless the escort was fairly large, the presence of soldiers was a peril rather than a protection, and that I much preferred being independent of them altogether. Once again he left me, to return in a few minutes to say that since I would not fall in with any of his proposals, he had arranged with the “huishang” (community elders) of the little town to send a few men with me as escort. That was adding insult to injury with a vengeance, as well as seeking to put on the business people of the town a responsibility they had no right to assume. To expect me to take, over a road infested with brigands, any Tom, Dick, or Harry they could find, put a gun in his hands and a braided coat on his back, and call him a soldier, was asking too much of my credulity. I indignantly told him that his latest offer was an insult, and producing my passport I laid it on the table before him, reminded him that that passport constituted my authority for being there, and that if he chose to “ ch’ing k’an” (lightly regard) that, then he could reckon with his betters if anything should happen to me or my party. With which warm outburst I requested him to leave my room at once, and told him 1 wanted to see no more of either himself or his men. In all my experience of Chinese officials I have never met with any man so utterly inane and helpless as this creature, and if he were a sample of the officers appointed to keep order in such a lawless country, then Heaven help the country! From what I saw later, however, I am afraid that in my anger I unwittingly did an injustice to the men of the “ hui- shang” that he finally offered to me. They, if anything like the lads I met further on, are infinitely superior both in grit and gumption to the ordinary troops, and are worthy of all praise for the manner in which they defend their homes, their womenkind, and their flocks. REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 223 Once across the river to resume our march, the first thing I did was to take my revolver from my saddle-bags and unload it in the presence of all my men. I did that, and in that open and somewhat melodramatic way, for two reasons. First, cast upon our own resources, and travelling in a district which was manifestly over- run with brigands, it occurred to me that a loaded revolver was one of the last things I should have lying about close to hand. In the event of our meeting the bandits, we had resolved on offering no resistance or opposition of any kind, and to enter into no controversy with them. All that they might want they should have, but should they come upon so dangerous a toy as a loaded revolver there is no knowing what mischief they might have done with it. Hence it was safer unloaded, and there in my saddle-bag it lay for the remainder of our journey, of no more use than if it had been at home. But my second reason for my open unloading of it was, in my judgment, almost more important. I wanted my men to feel that there was really no need to fear the brigands, and my action provided a capital object-lesson. It was with no mere pietistic feeling of pleasure that, as I put the revolver away, I heard Weng, my writer, say, “Yu Chu pao hu” (The Lord will protect us). All the same, I am bound to admit that while we were tramping over the remainder of our route every horse- man we saw approaching was an object of suspicion, until he had proved himself a peaceful traveller like ourselves. The judicial adage of “every man is innocent until he is proved guilty” was in our case reversed into “every man is guilty until we have proved him innocent.” And it was always an immense relief when the numerous horsemen we met passed us with a courteous “ Mendou” (peace) a Chinese “Shang na li 224 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA doe OD ch’ii,” or the Mongolian equivalent of the same question, “Ch’'i han ch’ing ah”? (Where are you going ?) Across the river we continued along the western bank, and paying no regard either to cart-road or by-path, we followed round the winding stream. Just after one o'clock we were passing a small hamlet of three or four houses, when a man rushed out to tell us we were quite off the track. We had known that ourselves for two hours or more, but do what we might we could not get him to understand that we were indifferent as to the track, so long as we followed the river, and were able to map its course as it described its many semi- circles. Just there it flowed round so as almost to form the letter S, and so we crossed by a small path at the end of the hamlet, to meet the river again on the other side. Just then a wind got up, and within a few minutes we were enveloped in the thickest dust- storm I have ever known in my life. That in which we had entered Hata on the previous Sunday was enough to satisfy any reasonable man for one trip, but this, to use a Lancashire phrase, “caps” all. We struggled on against the wind for over an hour, the dust and sand driving in unbroken clouds into our faces. I was sorely tempted, in passing a rich grove of willow-trees, to call a halt and make the best of a camp in the open air, but at that point, most fortunately for us, we fell in with a Chinese farm labourer, who led us for some distance, and then pointed out a path which he said would take us to his master’s house, where we could get accommodation for the night. I wanted him to pilot us all the way, and offered to pay him for his trouble, but that he dared not do, lest his master should chastise him for introducing strangers into his house as guests. After a slow and weary tramp along the path we found the house, and going through REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 225 the necessary preliminary palaver, we were provided with rooms. It was only after some hesitation, however, and when I had ordered the men to unload the mules, and told the man we were talking with that, whether he liked it or not, we were there, and did not intend to move out of that compound that day. At first I was led into a large room, devoted to the use of the labourers on the farm, and told I must make the best of that with all the men, including my own. Bad as it was, it was better than the open in such a storm, and I was fain to settle down and make the best of it. After a while, however, I was offered a dirty but quiet room to myself, and my men shared the large room with the hands. And well it was for us that we were there, though our accommodation was as poor as can be well imagined. Within half an hour of our arrival the storm became still more furious. The darkened sky became darker still. The wind howled round my dirty room like the raging of an angry demon, and at times the air was positively black with dust and sand, black as midnight itself. I only record the bare fact when I say that in the small room I occupied I could not see the wall on the other side from where I was seated, nor, when I went to the door to look out, could my vision penetrate more than a couple of feet away. So it continued till six p.m., and they might well say, as they did, that it was the worst dust-storm they had had that year. On one occasion the previous year it had blown like that continuously for three days and nights, causing them to lose many of their sheep and goats. Peking and Tientsin, in the springtime, can do their share in the form of dust-storms, but I made up my mind never to grumble again at anything Tientsin could give me of that kind. What we have inside the Great Wall is whole continents behind that storm at the village of Po Li Huo Shao. 16 226 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA The next day was Sunday, and we all felt we should have been glad of a day’s rest after our struggle with the storm. But though our hosts had got over their fear of us, and refused to accept payment of any kind for what we had used, they gave us no invitation to remain over the day till our loads were all on the mules, and at 5.25 a.m. we were ready for the road. Then the steward of the household came out with his master’s card to wish us farewell, and politely asked me if we would not honour them by resting there that day. Had he only spoken half an hour earlier he would have been surprised at the alacrity with which the invitation would have been accepted. But an invitation of that kind, given just when you are about to start, is never intended to be accepted as other than “hao hua” (good words). So, contenting ourselves with presents to the servants and grateful thanks to the steward and family, we resumed our tramp northward. Po Li Huo Shao (Glass Burning Furnace) is divided into three sections, called respectively Shang, Chung, and Hsia (Upper, Middle, and Lower). Where we had stayed was the middle section. Our host was the “ hsiang pao” (village elder) of his district, and therefore a person of no small importance. He was not at home during our visit, but we learnt that he farms 1,200 mow (200 acres) of land, employs forty labourers, keeps twelve horses and as many oxen, over one hundred sheep and goats, while the pigs and dogs about the place do not count. The district is nicely wooded, with poplars and willows only, but the land is sand, and apparently only sand. Hence when the wind blows they get such a treat as we had experienced on our arrival. Wolves and foxes they have in plenty, though we saw no signs of any. And it was at this place I learned a new name for the wolf. Instead of being called by the usual name REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 227 of “lang,” the wolves are always spoken of as “lai ti” (he who comes), which name, as pronounced by the dwellers thereabouts, was wonderfully like the Cockney pronunciation of the English “lady.” Two miles from the house where we found such welcome refuge from the storm, we had to ford the Yang Ch’ang Ho, which flows into the Lao Hao, one mile further down. At the ford, though the bed of the stream is some 70 feet wide, there was no more than 15 feet of water, with a maximum depth of 20 inches. This makes this stream so unimportant as to scarcely merit mention, were it not that on certain tentative maps it is shown as a fairly broad river. Quite near there we passed a large house, with tiled roofs (the first we had seen since leaving Chien Ch’ang Ying), and most elaborately carved fagade and verandahs. This was said to be the home of a wealthy man named T’éng, whose wealth lies, of course, in his land and his herds. Our morning march, owing to the broken nature of the ground, led us along the road a li or so from the river, but after our morning meal at Lan Chia Ha La, we made straight across the fields, climbed an easy path over the T’ai Ku Shan (Great Lonely Hill), and descended on the other side almost into the river-bed. Taking a new bearing there, we got another dust-storm upon us, which, while not anything like so bad as that of the day before, was bad enough to tear the drawing- paper from the plane-table and make further sketching impossible that day. In the lulls of the storm, as we tramped wearily along, we took bearings with the prismatic compass, and so, picking our own way over ploughed fields and dried-up watercourses, we came at length in the midst of the dust to a little village named Shan Tsui Tzu (Mountain Lips), perched on the side of 228 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA a hill, and boasting a small inn, into which we just managed to squeeze ourselves. Lordly palace was never more welcome ! It seemed as though we were now to be pursued by the wind every day, for our march to the Lao Fu (Old Palace) of the Mongol Prince of Ao Han, the next day, was accomplished under similar conditions to the days just past. The path, which we made ourselves, was level and easy and close alongside the river. At this section of our route the river is unusually broad. Far as one can see in some parts there is nothing but the river-bed, and although it was of course not full of water, the natives all affirmed that after the rainy season it is usually covered. At a small village called Hsiao Niu Ts’un (Small Ox Village) we had to get up on the hard road for a few hi, and follow the river round in a sort of bay. Here the river runs direct east for two-thirds of a mile, and then turns a sudden corner to the north. From the ferry we cut across the country through the Mon- gol village of Ma Lien Chuang, with the river on our right, till we reached K’ang K’ang, and joined the river again. From K’ang K’ang we headed due north, climbed up from the river-bed to a wide plateau, almost entirely uncultivated, and resembling what I imagined the “ grass-land” would be like. The little pass we had to climb was so steep and full of drift- sand that the mules had great difficulty in getting up, and the load of the yellow mule overturned and rolled off his back. Down again to the river-bed when we had gone another 2 miles, and we reached the Lao Fu of the Ao Han prince. But I have never had a greater disappointment in the way of sight-seeing than, met us here. Instead of an ancient palace surrounded by tall REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 229 trees and lofty walls (for that is what my imagination had pictured), we found one of the most wretched and dilapidated Mongol villages it has been my lot to see. There was scarcely a decent house in the place, and the people looked as poor as the village. Yet the position, for such a district, is ideal. The river flows round in a wide sweep; low-lying hills roll away behind what remains of the village; on the far side of the river are lofty hills in all sorts of fantastic shapes, while in the far north stand several ranks of rugged mountains. Until some fourteen years before my visit the prince had his principal residence there. But a strong force of brigands raided the place, robbed and then fired the palace, and the prince declined to rebuild there again, on the principle that the “feng- shui” (wind and water, or luck) was bad. Hence the sorry condition of the village, though his second brother has a house at the west end, but little different from many of the better-class Chinese homes we met on our trip. In another way the place seemed under a curse. The Ao Han Banner was without a ruler, the young prince having being murdered by one of his slaves in Peking on the Chinese New Year’s Day of 1905. It was very difficult to get anybody to talk about this murder at the Lao Fu. Every Mongol I spoke to had an adroit way of reminding me that the murder took place in Peking, and that therefore they could know nothing about it. But just opposite the room I occupied in the little inn was a dismantled house; outside was another house in similar condition, while all about the two houses were the trunks of what were once thick- girth trees still protruding from the ground. Then I got hold of the Chinese manager of the inn, and from him learned the facts of the case. His tale, supplemented 230 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA and confirmed by other facts I have gleaned elsewhere, was of too sordid a character to appear in public print. Briefly, the facts gather round two men and one woman. The one man was the young and immoral prince, kind and indulgent in many ways, but, though only nineteen years of age, one who had frequently wronged the female members of his retainers’ households. The second man was his slave, his personal attendant. The woman was the young and pretty wife of the slave. It was the old tale of vice that would not be denied, and hatred aroused by wrong, so that on the Chinese New Year’s Day of 1905, when the prince was resting after a round of calls on high officials in Peking, the slave went into his bedroom, and with a “ts’ai tao” (vegetable chopper) hacked the guilty young prince to death in a passion of revenge. That was on the first day of the New Year. On the 14th a messenger reached the Lao Fu with the awful news. Every member of the murderer’s family that could be secured was taken. Before night his houses had been demolished, his trees cut down, a brother and a little son arrested and thrown into prison, where they still remained. The murderer himself had been immediately put to death by the “ling ch’ih” (death by slicing) process. Within a month the young bride of the murdered prince either died of grief or committed suicide, and was buried in the same grave as her husband. The affairs of the Banner were taken over by two uncles of the prince, one of whom is a Lama, but had been so mismanaged that everything was in disorder. The soldiers supported by the prince, being short of pay and food, had deserted, and for the most part gone to swell the ranks of the brigands that infested the country, so that it was said that the robber bands of that section were largely composed of Mongols, a thing OUR CARAVAN CROSSING THE SAND-DESERTS TO YI MA CHAN MIAO. (See p. 253.) MONGOL HUT AT YU T'IEN KAO. To face p. 231. REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 231 unknown in former days. The Emperor either would not or could not (because of conflicting claims) make a new nomination as prince, and so we found the state of things throughout the whole of the Banner to be one of chaos. And all because a young boy, trained in the vices of Oriental despotism, would have his wilful way and dare a desperate man, the people were discontented, the state was disorganised, the routes were unsafe. Our advent into the Lao Fu was a cause of great interest to the simple there, and we had a number of visitors to see us. One of the most interesting was a dignified old Lama, with a handsome, clever face, the airs of a courtier, and the learning of a savant. He proved to be a doctor of very considerable reputation in the neighbourhood, but one felt that a man of his natural abilities should not be buried alive in such a place as the Lao Fu. From an intelligent young Mongol who spoke excellent Chinese we learned, for the first time, that the way before us to the junction of the Shira-Muren and the Lao Ho leads over heavy sand-hills, where no roads can be traced, and where, unless we had a guide, we were likely to find ourselves in difficulties. Acting on his advice, I at once sent to the residence of the second prince to ask if I could be supplied with a guide, whose expenses I offered to pay. The reply came that they had no authority to grant me a guide, but that, on learning of my arrival, and anticipating some such request, they had already sent a mounted messenger to the new palace, and would communicate with me on his return. The upshot of it was that next morning I had three guides, and after going a short 8 miles stopped for the day at a distillery in a village called Yu T’ien Kao. This distillery was owned by the Lama prince who was administering the Banner, and it was by his orders we 232 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA were entertained there. But for that I question whether we should have got in at all. For the manager and assistants were all Chinese, and my experience is that until he knows you and is sure of your bond-fides, there is no more inhospitable man in existence than the Chinese. It was now that I began to notice how the Mongols can ride. Leaving the Lao Fu, we curved round a wide marsh in which the river formerly flowed, and then mounted a hill that was not conspicuous either for its smoothness or its easy-going. As we descended on the other side, so steep and rough that I had dismounted to lead my pony, we heard behind us the pattering hoofs of a galloping horse. That horse carried our third guide, who had galloped up one side of the hill and galloped down the other side to overtake us, and as he reached me, pulled his horse up sharply, sprang to the ground, and, stooping down on one knee, saluted me with “ Mendou” (peace). The whole proceeding seemed so unnecessarily reckless that I asked him if he were not afraid for either his horse’s legs or his own neck; to receive the laconic reply, “Shang shan, hsia shan, ho ping ti yi yang” (To climb a hill or descend one is the same as to go on level ground). Certainly the Mongols, whatever else they may or may not be, are superb horse- men, and it is one of the sights of a tramp like mine to see how men, women, and children (for all are equally at home in the saddle) will spring on the back of a horse and tear off like the wind across the plains. The land along which we travelled this day was largely uncultivated, and but sparsely populated. There was now but little timber about, and we were in the regions where cow manure is used for fuel. There is little doubt about the change of fuel, for it emits a most pungent odour as it is burned, though it makes excellent fuel, and speedily blows up into a cheery blaze. REGIONS OF THE AO HAN BANNER 233 For several days we had found the water exceedingly unpalatable, by reason of soda in the ground. The trouble was all the worse because we had so much wind and dust to encounter, and every time we drank water or tea found our thirst still more intense. At Yai T’ien Kao, distillery though it was, we found the water so bad that none of us could drink it with pleasure. I therefore attempted successfully an old trick of Abbé Huc’s, of which he tells in his absorbing book of travels. I first boiled some water in a pan, poured it into a kettle into which a few small pieces of charcoal had been dropped, boiled it again, and then strained it through a clean linen handkerchief. The experiment was so successful that Marisami and I celebrated our triumph by immediately disposing of two kettlefuls of tea, and for the first time in three days felt that our thirst was quenched. Also, which was not less important, I was able to leave the distillery without breaking my old Band of Hope pledge. CHAPTER XV ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI WEDNESDAY, May 16th, began with heavy rain at the time we should have started off for what proved quite the stiffest bit of travelling we had met with. At 3 a.m. Shu Feng came to awake me, but as a start was quite impossible in such a downpour, we lay down again till 4.30, and got off in fair but cloudy weather about six. We had had most comfortable rooms in the dis- tillery, but the most enthusiastic man’ would have found it difficult to enthuse about our welcome. All the assist- ants in the place being Chinese, serving a Mongolian proprietor, may have had something to do with the coldness of our reception, but it was the same all along the district. We always found a cautious, even sus- picious, manner among the Chinese, and though they could not with any grace have refused us accommoda- tion, yet I frequently felt we were taken in on sufferance merely, and our departure was always more pleasing than our arrival. This morning, contrary to usual custom in the East, and although we had liberally fee’d the servants of the place, we were allowed to make all our preparations for going with scarcely any assistance whatever. My own men had to make ready the loads and lift them on the mules themselves. The assistants certainly did stand 234 ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 235 round the door, gazing at us as we bustled about, and behind them all stood the manager, who did not show himself at all, until I called out to him “Goodbye” as I was leaving the yard. We had an almost similar experience at Ha Ch’i Lai, a Chinese settlement 10 miles away, where we had to stop for lunch. The road proved tolerably easy-going, though in places wet and muddy from the morning rain. Learning that there was no inn in Ha Ch’i Lai, we sent forward the younger of our guides to arrange accommo- dation in some private house. When we drew near the village we found him awaiting us under some trees, and from a whispered consultation between him and our senior guide I gathered that some hitch had occurred. The older man presently galloped ahead, while we followed slowly behind. Through groups of coldly critical and curious Chinese we passed to the house our guide had sought, and as I entered the compound I heard the old householder cry out in angry tones, “Why cannot you go to some Mongol place? Why do you come here to bother us Chinese?” His confusion was comical, when I stepped into the room and explained to him that we came to his house because there was no other place convenient, and because the customs of the country de- manded the giving of hospitality to all travellers, that all we wanted was food for ourselves and our animals, and that all they supplied us with would be paid for on the spot. This seemed to mollify the old man somewhat, for recovering his equanimity, he agreed to do what he could for us, though he warned us that he had nothing but “hsiao mi” (small millet) to feed us with. Of that, and a little extra, we got our fill, and by noon again were ready for the road. And then we found ourselves plunged right into the midst of the sand-deserts of the Lao Ho, and I realised 236 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA in some small measure what such a man as Dr. Sven Hedin has endured in his many marches through the sand-deserts of Central Asia. For the next few days we were never out of sight or touch of sand. In what is practically a straight line for 52 miles we trudged through the sand, and on every side of us, broken only by the glistening river as it steadily ploughs its way northward we saw nothing but sand, interminable and endless wastes of fine sand that gritted our teeth, parched our throats, blinded our eyes, penetrated into every article of clothing we wore, interfered with the free working of my Kodak, and left its traces on every bit of food we ate. Of what might be called roads there were no signs. We were for every step of the way dependent on our guides. Their knowledge of the district was also severely taxed, for every wind that blows lifts up the light and delicate sand, and whirls it about, and a very short storm is sufficient to obliterate every trace of the roads. The sand-hills vary in form and size, ranging from 200 feet to 1,500 feet high. Hour after hour we toiled on, hot, thirsty, and weary. The poor animals strained every muscle as they plodded up the side of a hill, in the soft sand of which they could scarcely find a footing. They were not much better off when descending, for their weight made them sink as they stepped, and their grunts twere eloquent of their difficulties. Nothing we met on all our tramping could equal the sand-deserts for utter weariness, and poor Marisami, whose physique was not nearly so robust as the hardy northern Chinese, exhausted his vocabulary in an attempt to express his disgust, and wound up with, “Sir, sir, here too muchee sand, too muchee sand! One man come Mongolia side, go back, many weeks cannot see !” As we left Ha Ch’i Lai there was every appearance ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 237 of a wind-storm, and our hearts sank within us. We had seen the power of the wind where the land was not desert. What would be our luck if a similar storm arose here? Our guides shook their heads ominously, and urged us to make as good speed as was possible. They avowed that if such a storm arose stopping and march- ing would be equally dreadful. To march where no pathway could be traced would be impossible. To stop and seek shelter where nothing but sand abounds would probably mean burial within a few hours. Fortunately for us, the threatened storm did not come, nor did it all the time we were among the sand. Nor did the sun shine too brightly either, and that was equally fortunate, for the way was heavy enough without the additional torture of a broiling sun. I began my climb up the first sandhill very badly for myself. Leading my pony behind me, I in some way managed to stumble, and Hansl gave me a sharp kick on the ankle, which caused me intense pain for a few hours. He suffered for the accident, however, for I was too lame to walk and had to keep to the saddle for the rest of the afternoon. We were making that day for the Mongol settlement of Hsiao Hsiang Shui (The Little Sounding Waters). The distance was said to be 10 miles. We proved it to be 16, even allowing for the difficulty of the road. And we found the same discrepancy all the time we were in Mongol districts. The distances are always under- estimated. Ask any Mongol why it is they so seriously misjudge their distances, and the answer you get always is, “The only method we have of calculating dis- tances is the time it takes to cover them. And as we always travel on horseback at a trot, if not at a gallop, we get over the ground much more quickly than the Chinese do, and our distances are much shorter than 238 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA theirs.” Which fact may be a comfort when you are a galloping Mongol, but not otherwise ! For the first ro miles we travelled over those sand- hills without seeing a house or a hut. Nota living thing on land, and not a single tree or shrub of any kind. It was a colossal sea of sand. Then we suddenly dropped upon a marsh, formed from the river, where we found cattle feeding on the rushes in the shallows, and tended by two drovers, one an old woman about fifty years of age, astride of a brown pony. We had to make a détour of the marsh, and then came upon a few huts, where the dogs rushed out to bark at us, and a few surprised Mongol men and women came to their doors to see the procession pass. This place rejoiced in the name of Lien Hwa P’ao Tzu (Lotus Blossom Marsh). Three miles further on we came upon another similar marsh, Hei P’ao Tzu, or Black Marsh, and here again to the simple inhabitants of such a lonely spot we afforded as much interest as a travelling circus in an English country village would do. What life must be in such places as these must be left to the imagination. Here no screech of railway train ever penetrates : no hoot of motor-car is heard. Newspapers are never seen here; telegrams are unknown. Hurry and haste are words that have no meaning, save when a wind-storm threatens the weaklings of the flocks or a stray wolf has a notion for a tasty meal. The world may grow old, kingdoms rise and fall, social and political questions may be throbbing in the lives of civilised nations, but these simple, ignorant denizens of the desert live their lonely life in quietude, knowing nothing and caring less for the world that lies beyond them. Let their flocks increase and their coarse “ts’ao mi” (grass-millet) be secure, and they are content, yielding implicit obedience to the prince of their clan, whom most of them have never ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 239 seen and never worry about. And to some of those I saw the greatest curiosity they have ever seen was a company of men and mules, with a pony and a little donkey, and one of those men had a black face and the other a ginger moustache. One has not altogether lived in vain when he has flung one streak of light across the gloom and monotony of such lives as these. The last 3 miles of our march that day were wearisome in the extreme. Up one hill and down another we trudged, the sand being now relieved by small, stunted shrubs of willows, and it was a great delight to reach at last a settlement of three huts, where we saw the horse of our senior guide, who had ridden ahead, tied to a post, and we realised we had reached our destination. It was then 6 p.m., and we had been travelling six hours. Our welcome here was in marked contrast to the coldness of our reception at our last two stopping- places. We became the guest of the headman of the district, Pao Lao Yeh, and at the door of his compound was assembled every able-bodied man in the place. First the master advanced and saluted us in the true Mongol fashion, bending the right knee and dropping the right hand to the ground. Then we were escorted into a tolerably clean and comfortable inner room in the house, on the brick bed of which had been spread crimson cushions and rugs, in honour of the first white man who had ever been within those walls. One by one the elder men came into my room, wished me peace in orthodox fashion, and offered me their snuff-bottles to sniff at. All Mongols take snuff, and expect you to do the same. Every man carries his snuff-bottle in his girdle, and the unwritten law demands that to every man he meets he should 240 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA proffer this bottle with a low bow, and in both hands. At the same time he receives the snuff-bottle from the other man. Each holds the other’s bottle in his hands for a few seconds, puts it to his nose, still using both hands, sniffs at the outside, and with graceful bow returns it to its respective owner. It is a very simple but very pretty courtesy, of a piece with the Western method of clinking glasses in drinking healths (and not nearly so harmful as the Western fashion is apt to become), and the foreigner who can accommodate himself to the custom of the country in this respect has gone a long distance in the direction of establishing mutual confidence and esteem. This remote settlement of Hsiao Hsiang Shui consists, as I have already said, of but three families. Our host held the rank of a Tama Lao Yeh, and is responsible to his prince of the Ao Han Banner for the good order of the district, and the production, in case of need, of 750 “t’ai chi,” or soldiers, who must serve their liege lord in feudal fashion. Where he would be likely to find 750 men able to carry arms I did not ask, nor presumably would he. Unless he commandeered all the Lamas in the various temples he would find it difficult to produce 75, much less 750. But Mongolia is like the China that was, and numbers are very elastic. Nominally the commander of 750 “t’ai chi,” Pao Lao Yeh could content himself with the reflection that in these degenerate days, when Mongol princes prefer the ease and luxury of Peking to the hardships of desert to camp life, such a call is never likely to be made upon him. He was a strange make-up, was our host of the evening. His welcome of us was exuberant in its kindliness, and more than once he asked me very earnestly if I would not myself acquire a plot of land, as he called it, build PAO LAO YEH AT HSIAO HSIANG SHUI, To face p. 240. ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 241 myself a permanent residence, and make my home among the Mongols. He placed the best he had at the disposal of myself and my men, and never was prince more cordially entertained than was I at Hsiao Hsiang Shui. But—and though it seems ungracious the truth must be told—I much fear me that Pao Lao Yeh. was a man who did not understand the first principles of honesty and virtue. It matters little that he had three wives and a surprising number of female slaves for so small a settlement. In that he was just like all his wealthy neighbours everywhere in Mongolia. Nor do I wish to make much of the fact that he had a large spice of covetousness in his nature. More than one article in our meagre equipment took his fancy, and our dark sand-goggles were especially desired by him. Throughout the whole of the evening we spent in his house he wore the glasses of my writer, Weng, much as a little child would wear his father’s hat, and fancy himself grown up; while next morning, when: I happened to lay my glasses down, he instantly picked them up with the remark, “Why do you, a young man, wear what is only intended for an old man like me ?” I was sorry then I had not a spare pair with me, which I might have given him, for I can think of no place where they would be more useful. The ancient bow and arrow given to me at the Famous Pagoda he was very desirous to possess, even offering to purchase when hints as to a gift of them were of no avail. My shot-gun also he cast greedy eyes upon, but one learns to be wonderfully obtuse when travelling as we were, and hints were altogether lost upon me. But he gave evidence of graver faults still than these. He was a heavy drinker, as indeed are most Mongols, Towards evening his thick speech and heavy gait indicated that he had imbibed not wisely but too 17 242 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA well, and he turned up his nose in contempt when he found that my water-flask was innocent of whisky. He had a fiery temper, doubtless encouraged by the position of authority he held in the district, and it could be felt no less than seen that every individual in the little community stood inawe of him. His regular visits to Peking in the retinue of his prince had not helped to improve his morals, though it had given him in speech the purest of Peking dialects. And to sum up, while I do not wish to misjudge the old man, I got the impression that he would stop at nothing to gain his own ends and enlarge his possessions. He was very illiterate. He could neither read nor write his own language, nor go beyond the recognition of the simplest character in the Chinese language. He was the heaviest smoker I have ever met in my life, the pipe being laid aside only for meals, and during the night one of his female slaves went into the room he was sharing with my men, lit his pipe, and handed it to him for a smoke while he lay in bed. And yet this was a man who wielded undoubted, and almost unbounded, power over the people who lived within his territory. Not a man among them who dared to oppose him. Not a woman but might serve his basest passions. Not a child but feared him. “He wielded the authority of a monarch in the spirit of a slave,” and Pao Lao Yeh stands out in my memory as a strange mixture of courtly hospitality and coarse habits, uniting gracious speech with greedy spirit—a man I could never choose as a friend, but whom I would not desire for an enemy. He was evidently possessed of what in that district would be termed ample means. His wealth of course lay in his flocks, and we saw the pastoral life in its ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 2438 native simplicity as the mild-faced cows came slowly over the sand-hills in the evening, lowing for the calves that had been left at home all day. The Mongols avow that cows and mares can always be trusted to come home at night, if only their foals and calves are left there through the day. It is the sheep that cause most anxiety—silly sheep which forget their lambs, and have always to be sought for when evening comes. Very interesting it was to watch the milking deftly done by the women of the household, the calves loudly protesting against the robbery. Delightful was it to see the kids and lambkins skipping about in artless glee, butting playfully at each other in their fun-fights. The youngsters of the settlement also were a never-ending source of interest to us, as we were to them. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed they stared at us in dumb amazement, and one little cherub of five, a belated child of our elderly host, very much amused us by his droll manner of making salutation as taught to him by his father and elder brothers. Putting his little hands together, he would drop down upon his knees, knock his head three times upon the ground, and rise up with an air of precocious solemnity which was very comical to behold. But it was the Mongol woman as seen here and on the remainder of our trip that impressed us most. In one view, the least desirable specimen of the fair sex that can be imagined. In another sense, the hardest worked and most industrious woman on the face of the earth. Clothed in a garment that hangs from the shoulders to the feet, she knows no change of fashion and little change of dress. Her face is dirty and smoke-begrimed: her hands are mud-cased and filthy: her hair is uncombed and touzled: her speech is uncouth and often vulgar. In no one sense does 244. TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA she suggest the refinement of feminine society as known in other lands. She is middle-aged at thirty, old and wrinkled at forty, while at fifty, or when she becomes a widow, she has to shave her head as bare as a monk’s, and set up as a family Lama. But she works like a trojan, and always works. Up before the sun, she never sleeps till her men-folk have curled themselves up in sleep. It is she who sweeps out the hut, who carries the water from the well, gathers the fuel in baskets from the manure stacks, lights the fire, prepares the food, tends the cattle, feeds the dogs, rears the children, and, in fact, does anything and everything that one can imagine as necessary for the smooth working of the Mongol household. I could never love her (she is not clean enough for that), but I have a profound respect and admiration for her. Dirty and unkempt as the poor creature is, one cannot deny her the praise that is her due. I say nothing of the ignorance and superstition in which she has been reared. That can be better imagined than de- scribed. Enough to know that in such remote quarters as these nothing ever happens to vary the monotony of the Mongol woman’s existence. She is born, is married, bears sons, does her work, and dies. And in these five facts you sum up the average life of the woman in the plains. No books to read, no letters to write; to some, an occasional visit to a temple theatre, though even that is denied to many: what can be expected but that she is a credulous and superstitious creature, easily impressed by the unusual, and under the thraldom of the worst forms of ignorance ? And what of the Mongol man? I shall have more to say of him by and by, and at present will content myself by saying that the more one sees of him, the less one ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 245 likes him. True, he is a simple and childlike individual. He is much more natural and “innocent” than his Chinese brother. But he is a lazy skunk, and one finds it hard to forgive laziness. In the districts of which I am now writing he neither sows nor gathers into barns, and yet he revels in such luxury as suits his environ- ment. He smokes, he drinks whisky, and likes a lot of it ; he gambles ; he talks; he idles round all day and every day, and only wakes up when the hunting falls due, and then he spends three days each month chasing terrified hares across the plains, or trying to bring down pheasants with his ancient matchlock. Then, in thinking of Mongolia, you must take into account the dogs. They refuse to be overlooked or forgotten. Big and bony brutes, long-haired and shaggy, loud-voiced and vicious, they are to be feared and avoided. Never does a traveller approach a settle- ment unwelcomed or unnoticed. Vociferously they rush out ever so far to meet you, barking and yelping at your heels, and even at times laying hold of the horse’s legs in their excitement. It is always wise to mount your horse approaching a settlement, and remain seated until some one comes out from the house you seek and drives them away. You are not charmed with them, but you soon learn to respect them. Foot-pas- sengers (fortunately very few there) always carry two sticks with them, one long one in the left hand to keep the dogs at bay, a shorter and stronger one in the right hand to drop on Towser’s nose if he venture too near. Yet the moment you have entered the courtyard of their master’s residence the clamour ceases, and they again resign themselves to the wakeful dozing from which your coming has roused them. They bark at you and show their teeth no more, so long as you remain inside the yard or house. They will even con- 246 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA descend to make friends with you, and stand before you with eager eyes and wagging tails if you will fling them a crust or a bone. But put your foot outside the gate again, and the feud begins between you and doggie. War is once more declared, they are again your enemies, and whenever you wish to take your strolls abroad, you will always find it prudent to provide yourself with an escort from the house. Hsiang Shui also introduced us to close acquaintance with the circular huts, or tents, as they are called, common among the nomad Mongols. In the courtyard of our host there were four of these, though since he was fairly well off, and aspired to the comforts of civili- sation, the rooms in which we stayed were permanent structures of the ordinary Chinese pattern. The tents are made of a light though strong wooden framework, covered with thick felt, and often having an extra cover- ing of coarse reeds. Within the tent a wooden platform some 3 or 4 inches from the ground forms the bed by night and seats by day. In the centre is the fire cauldron, where the argols are continually burning, the smoke escaping through the little hole in the roof, The tents are surprisingly warm and comfortable. One I visited was unpleasantly hot, and I was glad to escape very quickly into the fresh air. The smoke naturally affects the eyes, and eye-troubles are as common among the Mongols as among the Chinese. These tents can be easily and quickly dismantled, and removed to another place, a common practice among the nomads when pasture for their flocks fails in any given district. It was at Hsiang Shui we were to hear and see the wonderful disappearing river, though, like many another strange and marvellous tale, our mystery was shrinking the nearer we got to it. Under the guidance of our host, and accompanied by a Chinese guest of his own, ACROSS THE DESERT TO HSIANG SHUI 247 on the morning of May 17th, while the mules and men went forward to the next halting-place 10 miles away I turned aside to see this great sight. Hsiang Shui resolved itself into “ hsiao” and “ ta,” which, being inter- preted, means Small and Large Sounding Waters. We took the “small” first. And we saw a miniature rapid formed by the close proximity of two massive rocks in the centre of the stream, barring the rush of the river. It was disappointing, but its educative influences were good. It enabled me to modify my expectations, and I was the less disappointed when I got to the “ large.” A few miles further on my host and his Chinese friend turned into a hut by the way to smoke a pipe and drink some more whisky. Overtaking my men, two of them accompanied me to the “Great Sounding Waters.” One hundred miles away from this spot I had been told that I should hear the sound of the cataract 5 miles away, and I had been indulging vague hopes of finding a new Niagara in the wilderness. I heard the waters sounding when I got within perhaps 15 or 20 yards of the spot. I had also been told that the river tumbled into a species of cave, or cul-de-sac, from which it could only escape by rising steadily up the hill, and then falling over into darkness and mystery for 12 or 13 miles. What I actually found was an ordinary waterfall, where the level of the river drops some 20 or 30 feet, before turning a corner almost due north, and the falling waters gurgle and splash and resound as they hurry past the rocks and round the corner. Possibly enough, in the rainy season, the waterfall is more impressive both to sight and sound. But it can never be anything to brag about, and the apocryphal tales that have obtained credence in various quarters should be added to the limbo of exploded chestnuts. It also proves how utterly unreliable are all 248 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA ‘natives’ reports of remote spots, making personal visits necessary to determine the truth of traditions that lose nothing in the telling. I snapped the “Sounding Waters” from eight dif- ferent positions while I was there, and came away with the doubtful satisfaction of having been the first white man from the West who had ever heard these sounding waters. Two years before four Japanese officers, during the Russo-Japan War, were for some time the guests of the Ao Han prince at the New Palace. Among their many excursions in the district, one they made was to this waterfall. But no Western traveller had preceded me, and though disappointed at what I saw, I could console myself as I turned away with the reflection that no other Occidental had ever stood on that spot. CHAPTER XVI LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES For the next few days we were to be brought into close and constant contact with the inhabitants of the various Lama temples we met on our route, and it is not a pleasing thing to have to record that the Lamas, popu- larly supposed to be the embodiment, and sometimes the incarnation, of holiness, are the least desirable of all the Mongols we saw. They have a craft and duplicity not found commonly in the laymen, or black men, as they are called, and our experiences of them, with one or two exceptions, were the reverse of satis- factory. : Leaving the Great Sounding Waters in company with our host and his Chinese guest, who had come up while we were examining the waterfall, we galloped along a high tableland for about a mile. Then we reached the Lama settlement of Hsiang Shui Miao (Sounding Waters Temple), and came upon our cara- van resting in the grateful shade of a few willow-trees. Having already travelled 10 miles that morning, we decided to unload and feed the animals and ourselves before attempting the next stage, said to be 10 miles further on. A number of Lamas were standing with our men, and they all in very respectful manner saluted Mr. Pao and his guests. The old man quickly made his authority felt here. Though I could not under- 249 250 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA stand the gibberish in which he chattered, I could easily gather that he was instructing the priests to see to our comfort. The change in their demeanour was remarkable. Prior to our arrival, they had gathered round my party in silent but unfriendly curiosity, and not even acup of tea had been offered to the weary travellers. Now the mules were led into the stables: willing hands removed their loads : my men were shown into a room where they could rest, while tea was placed before them at once: and I was escorted with due honour into what proved to be the living room of the senior priest at home. At first I thought we were being shown into a small temple, but it proved to be the residential compound of the abbot, fitted up in all respects similarly to the home of a Chinese gentleman. The abbot there is known as a “ Huo Fo-Yeh”—that is, a living Buddha— and his authority over his priests is absolute. His Holiness, however, was reported not at home, and his private rooms were securely locked and barred against intruders. Inquiry for the key elicited the informa- tion (probably false) that the man who kept the key was also not at home, and we had perforce to be content with a peep through the windows into the rooms that afforded shelter to an incarnation of saint- hood. The living Buddha was said to have gone on a pilgrimage to Tibet, and had been absent some three years before my visit, but something which transpired in the course of our conversation caused me to indulge in doubts as to the reasons for, and time of, his departure. The little community at that time consisted of thirty or forty Lamas. The temple proper, clean, well built, and not inartistic in external decorations, stood towering over a multitude of little mud-huts, which formed the LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 251 living rooms of the priests. In one respect the settle- ment was the least interesting of any I had visited. There was not a woman in the place, and at the risk of being misunderstood, I give it here and now as my calm and sober judgment that for dulness and stag- nation nothing on this earth can equal a womanless community. On that point I shall have something to say further on. Seated in the room, an animated conversation in Mongol ensued between Mr. Pao and the senior priest. This latter was a coarse, brutal-faced man, the kind of man who could torture a cat or horse- whip a child, and it was convenient for him to profess not to understand Chinese. It was plain that I and my party were the subjects of conversation, and gradu- ally I realised that Mr. Pao was insisting upon the securing of guides for us over the next stage. Presently Mr. Pao turned to me, and in the name of the senior priest apologised for the fact that they could not give us a better welcome. All the Lamas had been away from home for several months, and had but recently returned, so that they were ill provided for the duty of entertaining such distinguished guests as ourselves. Naturally surprised on hearing that all the priests had been away, I innocently asked the cause of so long an absence, and received in answer, “Oh, last year a beggar died here on the road near this temple, and his relatives made such a fuss over the matter, laying the blame on the Lamas, accusing them to the official at Chien P’ing Hsien. Three times the runners came here from the yamen, and the Lamas, being afraid, all ran away, and have been fugitives for nearly twelve months.” “That seems very strange,” said I; “what did the man die of ?” 252 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA “Shui chih tao ni?” (Who knows?) replied Mr. Pao, and there for the moment we had to leave it. Mr. Pao forgot to explain how it was that any poor beggar should have been so important a personage as to have relations who should be concerned about his death, and courtesy in the East demands that you should not too closely cross-examine your informants. A few minutes later, however, Mr. Pao and the priest left the room. Seated on the “k’ang” (brick bed) was the Chinese gentleman who had accompanied us all the morning. He had, though able to speak Mongolian, taken no part in the conversation. Indeed, if the truth must be told, he had been busily engaged in his own concerns, sundry cracks like the reports of a miniature pistol testifying to the excitement of the chase. And so common a chase is this in Mongolia, that I was the only man in the company who manifested surprise. Leaning over to me from his seat on the “kang,” this Mr. Liu now said in a stage whisper, “Mr. Hedley, don’t you believe what they have just been telling you. I know all about the case. The ‘yao-fanti’ (beggar) was a wealthy merchant from Hata. He was passing through here with a consider- able sum of money, and stayed one night at this temple. While here there is no doubt but that these priests murdered and robbed him. His friends in Hata, alarmed at his long absence, traced him to this temple, and then accused the Lamas on suspicion of having caused his death. That is why they all ran away, and it is but a few weeks since they settled the matter by a payment of taels 3,000 (£440).” “And to whom has that money been paid?” I asked. And the answer was, “Ask the official at Chien P’ing Hsien. He knows best,” which remark, accompanied by an Oriental shrug of the shoulders, means that His LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 253 Honour of Chien P’ing is not any the poorer for the death of this unfortunate merchant. It will not be wondered at that we were not anxious to remain long in such “holy” society. The living Buddha was said to be not more than thirty years of age : how he came by his perfections I never asked, but I wished it had been possible for him to com- municate some of these same perfections to his sub- ordinates. And as I sat pondering on the strange tale I had heard, I wondered how long His Holiness had really been absent from his temple, and whether his pilgrimage to Tibet at such a time had not been arranged opportunely to allow the bad odour of the “beggar’s” death to float away. We left the temple after lunch, guided by two men on foot, one a dirty and ragged old Lama, the second an old “blackman” some seventy years of age, who spoke a little Chinese. Presumably we were to travel another 10 miles. Again we found ourselves doing a march of 16 miles, in the course of which we came upon one small hamlet only, where, down by the edge of the river, two or three Mongol families found a precarious livelihood. The afternoon march was much heavier than that of the morning. From Mr. Pao’s residence to the Hsiang Shui Miao for much of the way the men had had a plain cart-track to follow over the sand-hills. But in this latter part there was never a cart-road and never a path to be seen, and we should have fared badly indeed without our ancient guides. How even they knew their way across those trackless sand-wastes baffled my comprehension. Trees there were none, of shrubs even we passed but two or three clumps, and save for the fact that the river ever flowed silently and sluggishly northward, there was nothing to serve as landmark all the 16 miles. 254 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Here we found the sand-hills much higher than we had so far had to cross, consequently our climbs and descents were much more steep. To them this time was added a spice of danger, especially at one point. For some time our guides had confessed themselves at fault ; they could discover no trace of the road any- where. We climbed and crawled wearily along, and presently found ourselves standing at the top of a hill with an edge like that of a knife running down some 300 feet, and down this we had to make our way at an angle of 45 degrees. On our left was a deep ravine, to the right was the river, and our path, so called, led sheer down to the water. Naturally, our mule- teer was afraid to venture his heavily laden mules down such a path, so I had to go before, leading my pony behind me. Into the soft, loose sand we plunged right up to the knees. Behind us cautiously came the mules, grunting at every step. Had any of us slipped, nothing could have prevented a sand-bath, followed by a cold plunge into the muddy river. But caution triumphed, and we all got safely down to find—what? That our way now lay for some 2 miles along a narrow path a foot wide at the very edge of the river. Wet and sloppy that march proved to be, and our guides earnestly charged us not to slip into the stream, declaring that the sands were quicksands, on which it was impossible either to walk or stand. We were a weary set of tramps that at 5.45 sighted the Yi Ma Chan Miao (Post-Horse Station Temple). And again we were to prove that when we were most weary we were least welcome. A heavy haze hung over the place, betokening a rainstorm which came later in the evening. The dogs, as usual, rushed at us as though they would devour us, but not a man came near with friendly word or greeting, and our old guides LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 255 went from hut to hut in vain, keeping the dogs at bay, while seeking out some responsible resident of the settlement. The settlement was again purely a Lama one, and just when my dander was beginning to rise at the inhospitable welcome accorded us, a Chinese carpenter emerged frcm a shed in which he was working and spoke to my men. Instantly we pounced on him, and he indicated that a burly fellow of forty-five standing some distance off was the abbot. Ignoring then our poor old guides, we got the carpenter to explain to my lord the abbot who we were, what we were there for, by whose authority we travelled, and finally that the Acting Prince of the Ao Han Banner had given orders that we were to be hospitably received and entertained so long as we remained in his territory. To all this I added that whatever we had in the shape of food we would pay for. That did the trick. The abbot suddenly discovered he could speak a little Chinese. Rooms were found for myself and my men. Sheds were provided for our animals, and in a very short time we were ensconced in a tiny hut where we could just manage to stretch our weary limbs. Mine was a room so narrow that I could not stretch my arms out without touching the walls, and the brick bed on which I lay was so un- comfortable and confined that for the first time on our trip—though not the last—I did not bother to undress. The men had a larger room to themselves, but there were five of them, and the air-space each man contented himself with would not satisfy the re- quirements of an up-to-date physician, even in China. They fared badly with their food too, finding the “ts’ao mi” (grass-millet) not to their taste, and poor Shu Feng, my cook, went supperless to bed. The little room I had was evidently used as a sort 256 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA ” of private chapel. At the end opposite to the “k’ang was a small Buddhist shrine, before which stood incense bowls and other paraphernalia used in worship. Showing me into the room, the abbot turned to me and said, “ Lao-yeh, hsiao hsin tung-hsi” (Your Honour will be careful of the things). “Fang hsin pa,” was my reply; “lien moa yeh pu moa” (Set your heart at rest; I shall not even touch them), indicating the quaint set of nine small brass incense bowls before the image of the Buddha. “Qh,” he then cried out, “I am not thinking of our things. It is your own things I want you to be careful about. You know I have so many Lamas about that if anything belonging to you were stolen, what should I do?” And turning round from me, he gave point to his exordium by ordering the curious crowd of Lamas to disperse, hastening the movements of some of the younger men by lusty blows from a thick stick he snatched up. I am sure the burly abbot did not intend to start me moralising, but I could not help wondering where the moral power of Lamaism came in when the professors and students of the principal temple in the district had to be driven out of the yard lest they stole a foreigner’s goods. “Talk they of morals? Oh, Thou bleeding Lamb, The best morality is love of Thee!” Again we found ourselves in the midst of a brigand scare. Across the river from the temple there stands the market town of Yi Ma Chan, and within compara- tively short distance of that place the skirmish with the bandits had taken place some days before. The. abbot was the subject of grave fears, whether real or simulated I could not tell. But he tried hard to LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 257 excuse his providing us with a guide to the next station, on the ground that he could not accept responsibility for our safe conduct across the hills. We were able to reassure him on that point. All we wanted was a man who knew the road, and could speak a little Chinese, and enforced our request by a reminder of the authority behind us—an authority even he could not afford to despise. At first he declared he would himself go as our guide, but we assured him that was an honour too great for us to bear. It ended at last in the appointment of a quiet, decent little chap, who spoke Chinese like a baby, and proved himself one of the mildest and gentlest of companions. Before we left this temple we were anxious to show some kindness to the Chinese carpenter we found there. He was a genial, good-natured fellow, and but for his assistance we should not have got even the accommo- dation we had. I was sorry for the poor chap also, buried there among a lot of Lamas. He was a native of the prefecture of Chin Chou, and in reply to my inquiries stated that he had been there in the deserts for some ten or twelve years. We were later to pass through Chin Chou, so in addition to giving him a generous tip, we offered to carry for him any letters or message that he might wish to send to his home. His answer to my writer, Weng, was instructive: “I dare not send any letters home, and so allow my whereabouts to be known, Here I have been in hiding all these years, and here I suppose I shall have to die. I had to run away because of a ‘jen-ming’ (murder) case.” And there, not more than 200 miles from his home, he was as secure from the hands of the judge as though he had plunged himself into the heart of the Gobi desert. His case helped me to realise how the brigands never lack reinforcements. Men get embroiled in some serious 18 258 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA lawsuit, and flight is their only safety. Away they scuttle across the Chinese border into the Mongolian deserts or the Manchurian plains, With the desperation of men who know their lives in any case are forfeit, they link themselves on to the robber bands that infest both countries, and enjoy a merry. life if, as a rule, a short one. Not many of these fugitives are content to settle down to the quiet monotony of a life among the Lamas, like our carpenter friend at Yi Ma Chan Miao. We learned a few fresh names for the brigands at various places on our trip. The commonest name of all is “Hung Hu Tzu” (Red-beards), usually spelt in British as “Chunchuses,” the Russian version of the name. Among the settled Mongols they are known as “Ma T’a Tzu” (mounted robbers). In the Ao Han Banner the name applied to them is crisp and direct, “Matsei” (horse thieves). While further up, in the region of the Shira Muren, they are so dreaded that the dignified name of “Ma-k’ e” (horse guests) is given by way of currying favour with them. However you name them, they are always a force to be reckoned with. No man in that region knows what a day may bring forth. Upon him, and his herds and flock, will suddenly swoop down a company of these desperadoes. And well is it for the poor fellow if they content themselves with taking merely the best of his stock. His womenkind are just as liable to be carried off, and any show of resistance on his part may mean an ounce of lead from a well-aimed rifle. And his remedy? There isn’t any remedy, either on earth or in heaven, that he can see. He must suffer his loss as philosophically as may be possible. By five o’clock next morning we were once more on the road, guided by our gentle Lama, and escorted to the further end of the settlement by a group of yelping LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 259 and snarling curs. For 10 miles we passed over an interminable succession of sand-hills, only here we had gnarled and stunted willow shrubs and acres of thick undergrowth. Through this for the most part we followed a narrow path, and every now and again were startled by the call of pheasants. We should have dearly liked to spend the morning in an attempt to replenish our larder. Provisions were scarce and poor, and we were becoming more weary and hungry every day. But you cannot both march and shoot, and we had reluctantly to stifle our desires and push on to our destination. Once or twice we got off our route that morning. A few times we had to do an extra tramp by skirting the edges of deep marshes where the ducks and geese make their homes. But eventually we reached a settlement of four or five Mongol huts, where we had to stop for breakfast. Basking in the sunshine at his door was a fine-looking old gentleman of sixty-three. Tall and strongly built, white hair and white moustache, frank in manner friendly in speech, was Pao Lao-Yeh of K’iin T’u Ling. Like his namesake of Hsiang Shui, this Mr. Pao was a Tama Lao-Yeh, but a man of much simpler and more honest a nature. His welcome lacked nothing in cordiality. Before we asked for hospitality it was offered. The best he had was placed at our disposal. He and his wife and sons bustled about to prepare us a decent meal, and he quite won the hearts of my hungry men when, from the rafters overhead, he produced a pound or two of fat pork, which he proposed to add to their simple meal of millet. Marisami, my Indian companion, and I had the luxury of two foaming cups each of fresh milk, and altogether we felt we were for these two hours in the land of Goshen. So favourably were we impressed that we made an 260 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA attempt to buy a sheep that we might have killed and dressed, and carry along with us as food for a day or two. But, ah me! they brought us an antiquated and attenuated billy-goat along, declaring he was the best they had. When we saw him, pity for ourselves and our teeth, if not for poor Billy, led us to grant him a longer lease of life, and our host politely acquiesced, declaring that we were two months too early for decent mutton, the pasturage in the early spring being very poor, and the sheep and goats consequently very lean. But if I could not buy a sheep, it was at K’in T’u Ling I got something I did not buy, and certainly would not have had as a gift. The man who travels in Mongolia must needs be prepared for anything, even for vermin. And while I sat on the brick bed in that hut, chatting with my genial old host, I found crawling on my hand one, yea two, of those minute creatures which inspired Robbie Burns to sing, “O wad some pow’'r the giftie gie us,” &c. No need to enlarge on an experience like that. But when it is remembered that the traveller invariably reaches a hut weary and tired, it is not surprising that he flings himself down upon the brick bed for a rest. And when it is also remembered that all these beds in Mongolia are covered with a strip of thick felt that has probably been there for years—and no spring- cleaning—it is not surprising that the vermin turn their attention to the newcomer, and without invitation prepare to accompany him on the remainder of his journey. It is not a pleasing experience, but it was mine on this occasion, and in all my travels during twelve years of life in China it stands alone. Leaving K’tin T’u Ling about noon, and guided now by a young Chinese who had adopted Mongol manners and customs with a Mongol wife, we passed LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 261 beyond the sand-hills 2 miles out from the hamlet. The first place we came to was a solitary hut in which we found perhaps a dozen men, wild-looking scamps they were too, both Mongols and Chinese. Round the hut were lying several camels, the ugliest creatures that could be seen. Every year, for one month in the spring, the camel casts his coat. Those we saw here were in the moulting period, and of all the ugly creatures that can be imagined, there is surely nothing to match the camel with his coat off. My old pony is afraid of camels at any time, but when we saw them that morning he thought his last hour had come, and while I went near to get a “snap” at them, he was led round another way by one of the men. It was a great treat to feel solid ground under our feet again, after so many miles of plodding through soft sand. Away to the north of us, and across the river to the south, we could still see the sand-hill, stretching into the distances. But we had a hard road, and so all stepped out briskly, strengthened by the kindly welcome and excellent meals at Mr. Pao’s house and cheered by the thought that the desert was a difficulty passed. For some miles our path lay through willow woods. Not another tree of any kind did we meet save twisted and ugly willows, but they made a grateful shade from the sun, and there was more gratitude than criticism in our minds. Through the heart of the woods lay the cart-track we were following. On either side the trees were rotting by their very profusion, and the undergrowth was so thick that no progress could be made off the path, save at the risk of torn clothing and scratched faces. At 4.30 we reached the Mongol settlement of Chi’a Kan Tao Hai, in the Ao Min Banner, and were led to 262 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the hut of the “pai-t’u” of the place, a petty official who has the oversight of ten families. He was an old man of over seventy years of age, remarkably like the photos of the famous Count Tolstoy. Clad in coarse cotton garb, and barefooted, with bushy white beard and shaggy eyebrows, he completed the likeness as he ran towards us. His run, however, was not in welcome, but to seize and sit down upon his ugly watchdog, which manifested a distinct tendency to sample the strangers’ legs. He motioned us into his hut, from which three women had beat a hasty retreat, and signified that it was at our disposal. But a more wretched and dirty place could scarcely be conceived, while it was not nearly large enough for us to squeeze into. We managed to express our disapproval, but that was the best house available there. Across the road there was a much better and larger place, but at our last stop we had been informed that the owner was lying very ill, and we therefore did not attempt to gain admission. A long wrangle ended in our going forward, under additional escort, another 2 miles, where we found a larger, but equally wretched, shanty, with which, as darkness had now almost come, we had perforce to be content. There was no man in this place, the owner being away from home. Two women, one a shrivelled old creature of seventy-five with wrinkled face and shaven head, the other, a dirty, begrimed maid-of-all-work, we found laboriously pounding their coarse “ts’ao. mi” (grass- millet) in preparation for the evening meal. The im- plements employed were very primitive and clumsy. A hollowed tree trunk held the millet, into that fell a sort of mallet attached to a long pole. This pole was suspended between two upright posts, and had a projecting end, on which the woman stepped, pulling meanwhile on a rope fastened to the mallet-head. Step- LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 263 ping on and stepping off, pulling hard and letting go, did the trick of shelling the millet which lay in the hollow tree trunk. We fared very badly at this place. There was not an ounce of hay or straw in the whole settlement, so our animals had to be hobbled and turned out to fend for themselves on the grass. The only food we could get for my men was the coarse grass-millet, which most of them could not at all eat. I had recourse to reserve provisions in the form of a basin of rice, on which frugal fare I made my supper, while the rooms of which we took possession were hovels in which a respectable British farmer would think it a sin to shelter his animals. Nor were we at all welcomed. That, considering there were only two women in the house, was not surprising. But we sought out a responsible man in the settlement, and commandeered him for our commissariat, as well as requiring him to provide us with a guide for next morn- ing. We sat about the yard till darkness fell. For such a small settlement it was surprising to find how many men came to see us. The whole community was in a state of alarm at the proximity of brigands, who were said to be in great force at a place 3 miles across the river. The residents wanted to know if I had no means of delivering them from the conduct of the bandits, and expressed themselves as_ willing to act under my orders if I would assume the offen- sive in their behalf. The young fellows of the district had formed themselves into a species of militia, and mounted on their hardy ponies, and armed with modern rifles, were patrolling the territory to protect their flocks and homes. My men got a big fright when two of them suddenly rode up to our compound to inquire as to what we had seen on the road. Two others turned 264 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA up on a similar errand still later. And one could not but admire the quiet and undemonstrative courage of these lads, who were prepared to risk all, even life itself, rather than be at the mercy of the marauders who were harassing the whole countryside. Home is a sweet word, even in desert Mongolia, and though what these striplings called homes we would call hovels, yet the sentiment is the same in Mongol as in Briton. If ever I wanted to take off my cap in deference to any man on that trip, it was that night at Ch’a Kan Tao Hai. I was hungry: I was tired: I am afraid I was somewhat ill-tempered : I was concerned about my animals : sorry for my men: but I was compelled to admire the cool determination and manly bearing of the lads constituting the home-guard of Ch’a Kan Tao Hai. It was at this spot we learned the real facts of the encounter between brigands and Imperial troops some days before. A battle there had certainly been, in which one poor soldier fell mortally wounded. The rest immediately turned and fled. The Colonel Feng was over 60 miles away, comfortably settled in a Lama temple, the soldiers being under the orders of a subordinate officer. Later on the local militia had met the bandits, and lost four men, but managed to beat them off, with- out losing any of their flocks. The soldiers in these regions are a poor lot. They are no match for the brigands, who fight as men who know that death will come to them violently sooner or later. Moreover, the people declared they could well do without the soldiers, for they themselves are not averse to a little light-fingered enterprise,.and rarely quarter themselves upon a com- munity without exacting a heavy toll. We were almost despairing of securing a guide for the next morning, when there turned up at dark a young Chinese, rejoicing in the name of Chang. To all out- LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 265 ward appearance he was a Mongol, clad in Mongol garb and speaking the Mongol tongue as glibly as any there. He declared himself an adopted Mongol, since he had married a Mongol wife and joined himself to her clan. This we afterwards found to be a common thing in those regions. The reason given for it was that where Mongols rule everything, no man can get a living unless he is prepared to “shui Meng-kou ” (follow the Mongols). Hence these fellows, having “left their country for their country’s good,” marry Mongol maidens, learn the Mongol tongue, adopt the Mongol dress, and settle down contentedly to the easy life of the pastures and the plains. At 5.15 next morning we were again on the tramp, having spent a most miserable night. None of us had disrobed, while after-events proved that we had probably carried away with us what we had not carried there. Again our route lay through the woods, but this time along a splendid cart-road, skirting the river as we went and startling numerous pheasants in the undergrowth. How we itched to stop and have a shot at them! We were all so hungry that the very thought of pheasant for dinner was heavenly. But we had no straw for the animals, and it would never do for them to break down. So we must needs plod steadily along, save for one shot. A fine cock pheasant was quietly resting a few yards ahead of me. Out came my gun, in went the cartridges, bang went the shot, and—away flew the pheasant, with that indignant yet triumphant “cluck-cluck-cluck”’ that the tyro knows so well. “Allah was very merciful to the bird.” Encouraged by my failure, [ tried to get further into the woods to justify my shooting powers, but the very profusion of the stunted trunks and overhanging branches made progress impossible, and we had to return to the road and follow the mules. Marisami declared he 266 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA would shoot something, but he didn’t, for though he carried the gun all the morning, his bag was as good as mine—nil. We had gone 7 miles when we stopped for breakfast, riding up to an excellent compound, with comfortable rooms behind, and several circular huts in front. This proved to be the residence of another Lama Lao-yeh of the Ao Min Banner, and the settlement rejoiced in the name of Chu Ch’ang Ai Lin, whatever that may mean. The host himself did not appear for some time after our arrival, but we found in the best rooms about a dozen Chinese, who were then (8 a.m.) just rising from the “k’ang,” where they had slept the night. The settlement was very quiet. Nota woman was to be seen save one ill-favoured old slave of our host. Asking the reason for this, I was told that the women had all fled to the sand-hills to the north when the rumour of the brigands had reached them. I conversed with the Chinese I found in the rooms, and gleaned from them that they were a party from Hai Liu T’u, who had been going to a theatre some 60 miles away across the river, but hearing of the brigands, had turned back and spent the night at this house. They were the strangest samples of theatregoers I had ever met. When they were ready for the road every man strapped over his shoulders a modern magazine rifle, round his waist a bandolier of cartridges, mounted a sturdy pony, and rode off in the direction we had come, in military formation. As they thus went, one word flashed into my mind. “ Brigands !” My men had the same thought. And when our host emerged from his tent, in which he had been sulking, he proved himself a genial fellow, sold to us for 1s. a fat goat, which we forthwith killed, and some of which we at once cooked and ate, our feelings were confirmed that unknowingly and unwittingly we had walked in upon LAMA TEMPLES AND BRIGAND SCARES 267 a company of the gentlemen of the road of whom we had been hearing so much during the past few days. They did us no harm: they spoke us fair and friendly : they gave us lots of information about the district. But they were too well armed and mounted to be ordinary travellers ; and while I do not wish to wrong them even in thought, whenever I think of the brigands of the desert, I think of the dozen men I met at Chu Ch’ang Ai Lin. It may, however, be wondered at why, if these men were brigands, they behaved so well and chatted in so friendly a manner with us when we found them in the hut. And the answer is, that the bandits of Mongolia rarely, if ever, interfere with foreign travellers. The only exceptions to that rule are when foreigners foolishly interfere with them. They are, as their name in those regions implies, horse-thieves. They plunder the wealthy men, raid their stores, pawnshops and distilleries, drive off their cattle and their flocks, and dispose of them in the nearest markets. To rob a foreigner would not pay them. He rarely carries much money, certainly not enough to tempt them. Then assaults upon a foreigner might lead to reprisals from foreign soldiers ; and des- perate men though the brigands are, they have a healthy respect for the foreign soldier, whom they know to bea much braver man than his Chinese comrade-in-arms. It is not by any means certain that any ordinary foreign traveller would be considered important enough to have troops sent out to avenge any wrong he might suffer, but the moral effect of such a possibility has a restraining influence on the brigands. The day after we met these men, not 10 miles from where we had talked with them, a Chinese store was raided, food demanded instanter, and the best horse in the stables appropriated. I have often wondered if my friends of Chu Ch’ang Ai Lin were responsible for that raid. CHAPTER XVII WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET PACKING the carcass of our goat on the mules for future discussion, we bade “Goodbye” to our host of Chu Ch’ang Ai Lin, and found ourselves almost immediately marching over what is known as the “ts’ao-ti” (grass- land). In other words, we were fairly on the Mongol plains, and anything more monotonous and uninviting it would be difficult to conceive. We had a march of 20 miles to make before we could hope to reach a place of accommodation, and as the next day was Sunday, and we were all (men and animals) so thoroughly exhausted with our hungry tramp across the desert, we hoped to find a place where we could rest for an extra day. At this point the river is very broad and wide, and east of this settlement it suddenly forks into two arms, a large island studded with willow-trees and thick with undergrowth separating them for about 3 miles. Then the river takes a wide sweep away to the south-east, leaving the road along which we needs must travel. Two miles further on it turns round to the east again on its way to seek the Shira-muren. We had perforce to keep to the road with our animals, the land near the river being broken and uneven. The most I| could do therefore was now and again to canter down to the 268 WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 269 river and look at its course, while Marisami, 2 miles away from the stream, sketched his map and made his bearings on the road. But to return to the plains for a moment. How I had longed for a sight of these wide-stretching and mysterious plains which form so much of the land called Mongolia! How I had wondered what they were like, and what we should find there! And how absolutely, as in a moment, I was satisfied with having looked upon them! Imagine a sandy plain stretching away on every side of you. Limitless as the sea, your imagination suggests, but not nearly so changeful and alluring. Nothing to obstruct your view beyond stunted grass of exceedingly coarse fibre, an occasional hut or two, surrounded by the argol heaps which form the household fuel ; the highest ground never rising higher than 2 feet, a rough road along which you must travel if you want to arrive anywhere, and there you have the plains of Mongolia as I saw them. And yet it is a mistake to imagine it all as a waste, howling wilderness. In the fifth moon, say June or July, the rains fall copiously, and the grass shoots up in glorious profusion ; here and there a more than ordi- narily industrious Mongol will scratch the earth with a primitive hoe, scatter a few seeds, and in a few weeks reap a decent harvest of “ts’ao-mi” (grass-millet). The roads are much more distinct and numerous than popular fancy makes them, and if a traveller knows where he is going, and follows the directions given him, there is as much certainty of his arriving at his destina- tion as though he took the East Coast Joint Route from King’s Cross to Edinburgh. Life there is in abundance on the plains. Scurrying rabbits tempt you to a shot that often fails; birds of many varieties of song and plumage flit before you as 270 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA you march ; now and again you will hear the tantalising call of the pheasants; in certain quarters the gentle yellow deer grazes in happy innocence, while at night the wolves prowl and howl, looking for food wherever it may be found. Only man is scarce; and you may tramp for a day, sometimes two or three days, and not find a settlement. When you do, the dogs will give warning of your approach, and you will never reach a hut by stealth. But the most eerie business in the plains to me was to see for myself how the Mongols dispose of their dead. I was of course familiar with both Abbé Huc’s and James Gilmour's fascinating narratives of Mongol travels and customs, but it came as a shock, nevertheless, to see with such frequency bleached and whitened bones on the plains. And when in five minutes’ tramp I had counted no fewer than thirteen grinning human skulls, | was ready for instantaneous conversion to the cremation theory. From Hata to K’u Lu Kou, and that was a distance of over 300 miles, I saw only one grave, a Buddhist tomb outside the Ta Pa Yin Temple, here reproduced. Once I had remarked on this to a young Chinese in whose house I lunched, and noticed his evident confusion as he off-handedly said, ‘Oh, our graves areacross the river.” Now, I did not believe him, for there the river was broad and the crossing difficult. But it is not considered polite in the East to call a man a liar, and I had to be content with my doubts. Once I asked one of our guides the reason for the bleached bones lying about the deserts. His answer was, that frequently oxen or sheep died away from home. That might be very true, but he forgot to add that both Chinese and Mongols would do their very best to find the dead animal, and would not hesitate to carry the dead flesh home for food. Reluctantly I was forced WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 271 to the conclusion that residence among the Mongols had affected the Chinese so far as to make them indifferent to their dead. The Mongols do not bury their dead as do orthodox Chinese; nor do they cre- mate them, as do Hindus and Sikhs in India. They have a much cheaper method. The corpse, clothed in old garments, is carried out to the plains with certain ceremonies. Should the family be wealthy, the Lamas will assist, if they are well paid. Should the family be poor, the Lamas are conspicuous by their absence. In a sitting posture the dead man is placed on a small box, some 2 feet square, and left there for the wolves and the dogs (the latter partaking of many wolfish qualities) to work their wills with. One such box I inspected near the skulls I have named, and the thoughts of the wild orgies of the savage brutes that haunt the plains turned the heart sick with disgust. Nothing I have seen in all my China travels gave me (as the ladies would say) “such a turn” as the sight of those ghastly skulls round that small box. I am one of those unscientific mortals who, for sentimental reasons, find in cremation much that revolts. But better cremation a thousand times than so degrading and brutalising a system as that of the Mongols. “Our sainted dead!” The phrase is a mockery here. And “God’s acre” in Mongolia is the haunt of ferocious and cowardly animals that fight and snarl over the bones of what was once the habita- tion of a man, the highest and noblest work of God. I know my scientific readers will smile at this, perhaps even sneer, Well, I have been bred in an old-fashioned school, where sentiment was not altogether unknown, and can only justify my feelings by the reflection that this old world of ours will be a sorry place to live in when hard, cold, merciless science has entirely killed off all sentiment. At any rate, I like not Mongol funerals. 272 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA We began on this section of our tramp to pay the penalty of the hardships of the desert behind us. For two days past our animals had had no straw to eat. Hay, of course, we never think of in North China. All we had been able to do for the animals was to turn them out to crop up whatever they could find. “ Kao-liang” (tall coarse millet) and bran we carried with us, but that without straw was not good for them. On this march from Chu Ch’ang Ai Lin the dainty chestnut had a bad attack of colic, and manifested great anxiety to lie down on the road. Weurged her on, and she went a bit further, one of the men leading her. Very soon she collapsed under her load, which we at once transferred to the animal Shu Feng was riding, my pony Hansl sharing the burden, while we walked. But the poor beast was too ill even to crawl along without a load, and a further delay ensued, while the muleteer, seizing her nose, worked her head backwards and forwards most vigorously. This having but little effect, they pushed cayenne pepper up the poor beast’s nostrils, and then, the Pai Yin Ta La Temple being in sight, the muleteer hurried ahead with her, hoping to find, as indeed he did, an amateur veterinary among the Lamas. But that was only the beginning of our troubles with the mules. The big white mule soon gave evidence of similar symptoms, though not quite so violent. Nearing the temple, I ordered the men not to stop, lest the fact of standing should induce the white mule to lie down again. But we had only got a few hundred yards past the temple when he absolutely gave in, and rolled on the ground in great agony. This meant a rearrangement of the loads, and Shu Feng was sent back to have the white mule doctored with the chestnut. Our poor muleteer himself quite lost heart when he saw his second animal in a state of collapse, and had a good, frenzied WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 273 cry, in which I doubt not I was heartily cursed for the mess into which I had brought him. But the vigorous measures of the Lama vet. answered the desired purpose. As we passed, they had the chestnut tied up to a pole, and bleeding like a stuck pig from two incisions in the body, just behind the forelegs, The same drastic methods were adopted with the second mule, and about two hours later than ourselves they all rejoined us at the store of Tien Hou Lung. After the bleeding some native “Beecham’s pills” had been administered to both animals, with good results. At the store we had reached, being a Chinese store supplied from K’u Lu Kou, we were provided with proper fodder, and a good day’s rest brought the poor brutes into their normal condition again. Tien Hou Lung (Substantial and Wealthy as Heaven) is the high-sounding title of the most unique store I have visited in my life. It stands absolutely alone on the broad, flat plain. In the rooms into which guests are first ushered there is not the slightest appearance of articles, either for sale or barter. True, you will find a few strong and fleet-footed ponies standing in the yard meditating on the mysteries of life without a nosebag. When you first approach the outer compound, half-a- dozen powerful and ferocious dogs will rush out to greet you, but speedily recognising that you are not Mongols, will not hesitate to make friends with you, as they did with me. That was a very remarkable thing that we could not help noticing. All the assistants (and of these there were fifteen) were Chinese, speaking the Mongol tongue freely and fluently. And all their dogs, though Mongols, were pro-Chinese and anti-Mongol, and became quite friendly with us because we were not Mongols. And when I expressed surprise at this, 1 was reminded of the Chinese axiom, “Ch’ih shui ti fan, chiu shih shui 19 274 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA ti nu” (You are the slave of him whose food you eat). But to return to our store and its trade. Our friends dealt in almost everything that could be needed by a pastoral people. Harness, cloth, wine, calico, tobacco, corn of various kinds, and even Manchester cottons and “Peacock” cigarettes are securely stored away in rooms that are always closely barred and padlocked. In the quiet room I occupied there were gaudy harness and sombre cottons, while in other rooms there were bright ribbons and fancy buttons, with which to tempt the vanity of the Mongol woman. The custom is that whenever an apparent customer arrives at this lonely store he or she is instantly asked if they will take food. Should the answer be negative, it is understood to be a mere friendly call, a sort of look-in-when-you-are-passing business. But an affirmative answer means trade, and a good deal of it. Food is instantly prepared and set before the guests, and to it good justice is done, for all have come some distance, and some may have travelled 40 or 50 miles to do their shopping. The meal ended, business begins, and it is interesting to know that the Mongol woman, wealthy enough to go shopping with T’ien Hou Ling, enjoys the luxury of looking at the pretty things, fingering the finery, choosing this and rejecting that, quite as much as her more refined—though sometimes, alas! less natural—sister of the West. Money never passes between buyer and seller there. For the best of all reasons: there isn’t any knocking round. Occasionally you come across some old Chinese cash, but very rarely ; and all transactions are in kind. And it can readily be understood that away there in that remote quarter im- ported goods are not cheap. And one can fancy the Mongol paterfamilias receiving his annual bill in the autumn, and though he can rarely read, almost pulling his queue off when he finds that a yard of crimson WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 275 tibbon has cost him a sheep, or a lady’s suit a team of prancing ponies. And one wonders whether the modern method of large stores in England, of having refreshment- rooms on their premises for the convenience of their customers, is an imitation of Mongol manners. The young assistants were all smart men of business, and the simple Mongol is no match for such as they. Each of them has his regular round of monthly calls, like the ““menage-man,” or “Scotch draper,” of the North of England. And at times they go off for several weeks with a heavily-laden cart, penetrating into still more remote regions, and visiting places that make an explorer’s mouth fairly water with desire. And yet, though the war between Russia and Japan had come to an honourable end eight months before our visit, not a man amongst these capable and intelligent young business fellows knew anything about it. For all they knew, it was still going on. And from their point of view they did not hesitate to say they did not mind how long it went on, for they had made lots of profit out of it. The demand for horses and oxen had been so great that the months of the war had been a veritable time of harvest for them. Sunday was a genuine rest-day to us all, and we were lazily content to lounge a little and sleep much. I took the opportunity of riding across to inspect the river, which lay a mile east of the store. There it was fully a mile wide, yet was split up into several narrow channels to a depth of 4 and 5 feet. Across the river the sand-hills menacingly faced us; and we realised with a feeling akin to dismay that our march to K’u Lu Kou was to lead us through the sand-deserts once again. Later in the afternoon I mounted the roof of the store with my telescope to “view the landscape o’er.” What we saw was the river and the sand-hills away to the east; north of us lay the settlement of Hai Liu T’u (Earth left by 276 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Sea); and far away to the north-west, 40 miles off, said my hosts, was a lonely mountain standing on the plain, and rejoicing in the name of Tien Shan (Heaven’s Hill). Monday morning, May 21st, at eight o’clock, saw us leaving the store for our last march by the side of the Lao Ho. We were assured that we should reach the confluence of the rivers when we had gone about 2 miles. I therefore ordered Shu Feng and the muleteer to proceed direct to Hai Liu T’u, seek us out a lodging, and make ready our food. With Marisami, Weng, and Yuan Min, I crossed over to the river, determined to follow it, however difficult the going, until we met the Shira- muren. We found we managed best by tramping in the sand-bed of the river, and on we went, bodies refreshed by the rest of yesterday, hearts light and cheery at the thought of a bit of good work almost finished. The Shira-muren (this name is Mongolian for what the Chinese call Huang Ho, or Yellow River) flows from the west through the Imperial Hunting Park, and by Dolonor, and assumes large proportions in its journey east. We had been told, however, that at its junction with the Lao Ho we should find it not more than 4o feet wide. We had not been told that even then we should find it without water. Yet so it was. We tramped steadily on until we came to what was distinctly a small river-bed opening into the large bed of the Old River. This being so contrary to all my information and expectations, we decided that this bed could only be that of a minor branch from the main stream, and continued our march steadily north-east. On and on we trudged, perplexed and bewildered, yet not wanting to admit ourselves baffled. Two miles became 5, 5 became 7, 7 crept up into 1o, Not a soul had we met, not a hut had we seen. Yet ahead of us was a long line WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 277 of willow-trees, which looked as if they might stand on the bank of a river, and for these we steered. Hope deferred was making the heart sick as well as the limbs weary, when I espied an old man walking briskly along with a trident in his hand, with which he had been spearing fish. Galloping across to him, I learned that we had already passed the Shira-muren, and that no other stream joined the Lao Ho for a considerable distance north. So positive was this patriarchal Neptune, that we had perforce to accept the inevitable and retrace our steps. The picture of the old man here reproduced was taken in the bed of the Shira-muren itself. Forty yards west of this was a small pool of water ; the ground was damp and sticky as of recent rain, but absolutely not an ounce of water was flowing into the Lao Ho, and we very much wondered. Back in Hai Liu T’u, we were able to gain still more definite information, the substance of which appears in the following notes, transcribed from my diary written up on the spot :— “ty, The dried-up stream is the Shira-muren itself, and there is no other stream of that name any further north than we now are. “2, Forty li (13 miles) west of this village, the Shira- muren forks off, the northern stream receiving the name of T’ai Kan Ho (Great Dry River), and emptying itself into a ‘p’ao-tzu’ (marsh if small, lake if large), over 30 miles north of Hai Liu T’u. “3, There is water flowing into the Lao Ho from this Shira-muren stream only in the spring of each year, immediately after the frost thaws. To-day is the 28th of the fourth moon. The natives assure me that on the 18th and igth (ten days ago) there was water in the stream flowing into the Lao Ho, in sufficient quantity to compel them to wade across with shoes and socks off. 278 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA “4, Should there be specially heavy rains in the late summer, then again there will be water in the Shira- muren, but the regular thing is as stated in No 3. “3, The natives know of no other river within reason- able distance of this that flows into the Lao Ho. Indeed, they say there are none till it reaches Manchuria, though there are lots of ‘p’ao-tzu’ in the district north of here, which become simple marshes. “6. Boats, they say, cannot get up any further from Newchuang than Hsin Ch’eng. “The conclusion of the whole matter seems to be that if west of here the Shira-muren is as large as shown in the photo reproduced in the Geographical Fournal (vol. 36, No 4, p- 425), then it loses much water in its progress to the Lao Ho, its last loss being in the T’ai Kan Ho. We have reached the actual point of junction, and that part of our work is complete. To-morrow we can cross the river and go towards K’u Lu Kou, though the most satisfactory thing, had it been possible, would have been to follow the Lao Ho all the way from this point till it completes its course in the sea at Ying K’ou (Newchuang).” To these notes I may now add that the river from this point changes its name and is known as the Hsi, ive., Western Liao Ho. From here it flows steadily north-east, my prismatic compass reading at 42 degrees, and so flows, according to native testimony, for 70 miles before reaching its most northern point. Then it turns almost due south, flows past Mukden and the other large cities of Manchuria, and enters the sea at the treaty-port of Newchuang. Such are the actual facts gleaned in my visit to the junction of these two rivers. The Shira-muren forms the natural and official boundary of outer Chihli and Mongolia. North of the river is Mongol territory only. WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 279 South of it is Chihli, Hai Liu T’u being in the Ch’ih Feng district. Not that the official takes any cognisance of Hai Liu T’u, save to collect his dues. For administra- tion of justice the natives, Chinese though they be, always repair to the Mongol duke at Wu T’an Ch’eng, and by judicious feeing of the runners secure such justice as there is to be had for the paying. So far as we could learn, only one foreigner had previously visited the spot, and he was a young Russian officer who spent ten days at the Tien Hou Lung store in 1904. What he was doing there no one could quite make out, though he was evidently an intelligence officer for the troops operating in Manchuria. He stated that his headquarters were at what the natives call Ta Ku L’erh, otherwise Urga, but he hastily decamped when he learned that a company of brigands were on their way to interview him. It was from this point that we had hoped to strike north-west and visit the Prince and Banner of Barin. That, however, was 700 li (230 miles) away, and our time- limit was already sadly used up. We had therefore reluctantly to abandon the idea and turn our faces south-east and homeward. Hai Liu T’u is a small Chinese village of fifty families. Like their Mongol neighbours, they are engaged in pastoral, not agricultural, pursuits, and each family has its quota of horses, oxen, and sheep grazing on the plains. The only cultivation known to them is the production of “ts’ao mi,” the grass-millet already so often mentioned, and the staple food of the people in all those regions. Near the Shira-muren and beyond are some tall willow- trees. Elsewhere the land is given up to pasture only, and the outlook is flat and monotonous in the extreme. The natives, though they are pure Chinese, are distinctly Mongol in costume, appearance, and speech. 280 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA They use naturally their own Chinese tongue in con- versing one with another, but speak the Mongol lingo as freely and correctly as the Mongols themselves. To all intents and purposes they have ceased to be Chinese proper, and are quite content to spend their lives in the rearing of herds of cattle and horses, which find a ready sale through the good offices of T’ien Hou Lung and Yuan Pao Chuan, the latter being the name of the store we stayed at in their village. Connected with the settlement I learned an interesting tradition of the great Emperor K’ang Hsi, which I repeat here for what it is worth. On one of the numerous occasions on which that industrious monarch went off on a long itinerary, he arrived at this place, and wished to cross the river into the territory of the Naiman Banner, There was then no village or settlement anywhere near, and unfortunately for him heavy rains had caused the river to swell to abnormal size, making the task of ford- ing one likely to be attended with considerable peril. There chanced upon the Emperor at this time a man named Ma, who was a native of the district of Yi Chou, near Chin Chou Fu. Evidently a man of resource, he in some way or other was able to get the Emperor safely escorted to the further side of the river, without so much as a pair of wet feet. His Majesty was so pleased with the fellow that he there and then conferred on him the Imperial honour of a yellow jacket, presented him with the staff he carried in his hand, gave him permission to choose for himself as much land as he wished, and promised that so long as the yellow jacket and Imperial staff remained in the Ma family, he and all his descendants should live upon their land exempt from all taxes, as from all rents that might be demanded by Mongol owners. Ma at once showed his decision carried him further than the mere fording of a river, for WHERE TWO RIVERS MEET 281 he immediately chose the present site of Hai Liu T’u, with the broad pasture land attaching to it, and, like Joseph of old in Egypt, had all his clan in its various branches brought from their ancestral homes, and settled in this new land of Goshen. So far, well. But after some years the old grandfather of Mr. Ma went the way of all flesh, and evidently he considered that he whom the king had delighted to honour should show more than the average kind of filial piety at the funeral. In an excess of that excellent spirit, therefore, he caused the corpse to be dressed in the yellow jacket, placed the Emperor’s staff in the dead man’s hand, and with fitting ceremony conducted the necessary funeral rites. And ever since the clan has had to pay all its rates and taxes to the Mongol prince and landowners just in the ordinary way, and is subject to all the inconveniences, without any corresponding advantages, of being under the nominal jurisdiction of the Chinese official at Hata. No Ch’ih Feng magistrate, however, has ever been known to visit the settlement, and all appeals and complaints are made in vain before His Honour. Such was the tale as told to me at Hai Liu T’u, and as if to confirm it, almost every one of the fifty families rejoices in the name of Ma, and declares itself as having come six or seven generations ago from Yi Chou. And when we left on the morning of Tuesday, May 22nd, sure enough our Mongol-speaking and Mongol-clothed Chinese guide is a scion of the house of Ma, and smilingly claims descent from the illustrious, though foolish, man who once gained an emperor’s favour, and in an unnecessary outburst of devotion to an admirable cult lightly buried it in the ground. a aw & CHAPTER XVIII THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU KOU OvrR rest at Hai Liu T’u the night we stayed there was very much disturbed by a couple of loquacious Chinese guests who sat far into “the wee sma’ hoors ayont the twal,” discussing in strident tones the conduct of some mutual acquaintance over a financial transaction. The Chinese are a naturally eloquent race. Thought and speech come readily to them. But it is when you link the two important topics of food and cash that the speaking ability best displays itself, and you are in danger of being overwhelmed in the torrent of words that will assail you. Our two friends discussed their private affairs in the most public fashion, and it was not until I mildly asked them if they could not defer their conversa- tion till daytime that they subsided into the silence of sleep. But they had destroyed my chance of further rest, and consequently before five o’clock I was astir, had my men called up, swallowed some warm coffee, and by 6.15 had bidden farewell to our host of the Yuan Pao Chuan. We made straight for the Lao Ho, our first task being to ford it to seek the road that would lead us to K’u Lu Kou. Our guide accompanied us on foot, and proved himself a good fellow who knew his way about. The 98a THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU KOU 283 river lies some 4 miles east of the village, and just as we were approaching the stream a dignified-looking Mongol of some sixty years of age came riding towards us on a splendid little pony. The old gentleman seemed surprised to see astir at that hour, a caravan which included a white man and a black. A combination of that kind was quite evidently a great rarity to him, and without wasting any time in preliminary courtesies he at once entered into an animated conversation with our guide. They jabbered, of course, in Mongolian, but it did not require an expert to understand that we were the subjects of the conversation. Whether the old gentleman suspected us, or whether he was anxious to assist us out of his district, 1 know not. But when he had ridden beyond us a few hundred yards he suddenly wheeled round to the south, galloped back to the river, and we watched him ford the stream about half a mile below where we were. Then safely across, he whipped up his animal, and was soon out of sight, riding towards the village we afterwards reached. We were that morning to take our leave of the Lao Ho. We had followed its sinuous and slow-moving water for over 300 miles. We had toiled over its sand- deserts, inspected its famous waterfall, tramped along its edge as no other white man had ever done before. It had come to be to us as an old familiar friend, and yet not not one of us was sorry when the moment of parting came. Perhaps it was a watery Nemesis that tracked us, and to rebuke our spirit of thankfulness at being done with the river, gave us a farewell experience that none of us are likely to forget. A little after seven we reached the bank of the stream. It was not possible for us all to cross at one time. Our guide doffed his trousers straightway, his example quickly followed by the muleteer. Shu Feng rode his 284 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA mule as usual. I followed mounted on Hansl, while Neddy, the little donkey, kept closely at his heels, and gingerly followed his stable mate across. The other men had for a time to be left behind till we could unload the mules and send back for them. Off we started, our guide leading the way. I looked at my watch as we entered the bed of the stream. It was 7.14. Not once did I halt or pause in my passage across, and when I reached the farther side my watch stood at 7.34. It had taken me exactly twenty minutes to cross from one side to the other. But the rest of my party was not so fortunate. - Riding behind the animals, and keeping a careful look-out, I suddenly observed that the load of the little chestnut was all awry. My servant at once called out to the muleteer to see to the load, for since it was composed of the bedding and extra clothing of the men, a wetting was the last thing to be desired. The muleteer, stolidly leading his animals, dropped the halter of the first mule, and rushed back to save the toppling load. That mule instantly turned to follow him, stepped into deeper water, and at once lay down in the stream, with its head only protruding, and my old portmanteau and food-box almost entirely submerged. Then the whole boiling got into confusion. The red mule kicked off her load, which was precipitated bodily into the water. The whole thing happened in much less time than it takes to tell it, and fearing still further catastrophe, I rode forward, caught the halter of the second mule, and led the three remaining animals—two with their loads intact, and one without—safely to the eastern side. And there were the guide and the muleteer struggling in the midst of the stream with the load of the mule that was having so unexpected a bath. They set him free, and he placidly sauntered across the water and rejoined us. THE LONELY WAY TO KU LU KOU 285 For some minutes the two poor fellows in the river tugged at the load, trying to lift it bodily out of the water. But it was of no use, and eventually they had to undo both loads and carry them across piecemeal, of course sodden with water. Ah me, what a piteous revelation was there! For the first time on the trip I found that Shu Feng, my vain young servant, had taken with him in his bedding all his best clothes. He had silk jackets, satin waistcoats, and trousers of varied hues and qualities. Where he had expected to wear them I cannot say. But they had all been in the water. And that was not all, for one of his bed-quilts was lined with red flannel, and the colours were not fast. Result, heliotrope pantaloons, pale blue vests, &c., &c., were all well streaked with red, and irredeemably spoiled, and the look of consternation on the face of that lad, as he ruefully turned out his precious things, was a study in expression. It is im- possible to describe his appearance as he viewed the wreck of his finery. The other men took their calamity philosophically, and when they had been brought across on the mules, spent an hour and a half wringing out the surplus water, and making jokes about the whole affair. My things had suffered less than I had feared. Some of my cloth- ing was thoroughly soaked, but being old stuff it did not matter much. One volume of Abbé Huc’s Travels got badly drenched, but the other things in my portmanteau were none the worse. But the food-box had a bad time. My sugar and butter and rice, and such like provisions, were quite ruined, and many a hungry hour I knew as a result of that accident in the river. The muddy deposit in the tins was astounding, and it was useless making any attempt to clean or filter. Wherever the water had gone the things had to be thrown away. 286 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA And in consequence, the march for 100 miles to K’u Lu Kou turned out to be a much more serious trial than the tracking of the Lao Ho had proved. At a small settlement named Ao Liu Chu, where again we had a boisterous greeting from the dogs, we changed guides, who carried us forward for the remaining 7 miles of our trip that day. One of these guides was a garrulous old fellow of sixty-one, who entertained me with conversation all the way along. We were now travelling in the territory of the Nai Man Banner, but this old man was originally a member of the Ao Han tribe. In the seventeenth year of the late Chinese emperor (1895) a serious rising against the Mongols was organ- ised by the Chinese residents in and about Hata. What had led to the friction and enmity is not quite clear, nor did much news filter through to the world. Yet so widespread was the rising, and so ferocious its character, that some thousands of the simple Mongols were either done to death or compelled to forsake all they had, and make new homes for themselves in remote quarters. Among the fugitives of that time was my old guide and his family. They fled north-east for 500 li (170 miles), and, receiving permission from the Prince of Nai Man, had established themselves within a mile of the eastern bank of the Lao Ho, and engaged in the ordinary pastoral avocations. He was the owner of several heads of cattle and horses, and was mounted on a splendid yellow pony, which for speed and endurance compared favourably with anything I met on the road. All that the old fellow told me would go far to the making of a book, for of all the men I met, he was the most free in his information, and my regret was real that I had him with me for no more than 7 miles of my tramp. Among other things it was from him I learned that the Mongols known as “ T’ai chi’”—that is, THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU HOU 287 men able to bear arms and on call to serve their prince in warfare—are all supposed to be lineal descendants of the Yuan dynasty, which flourished in the twelfth century. All these men are born into the dignity of “ssu p’in” (fourth rank), and without any appointment by the Emperor assume their rank automatically at the age of eighteen. This rank enables them to don a blue button on their caps, and consequently almost every able-bodied young fellow in Mongolia can boast of official honour, even though he be as poor as the pro- verbial church mouse. Another interesting sidelight upon the spirit of subjec- tion in which the Mongols are kept was given me when he said that it is by the express injunctions of the princes that the Mongols are kept to their pastoral pursuits only. Agriculture and business are equally interdicted. As to the former, for two years in succession they are per- mitted to plant and gather small plots of “ts’ao mi.” After that they must turn to some other plot, and give the original back again to pasture. No Mongol may engage in business for himself. If he has money to invest, and is anxious to employ it other than in raising cattle, then he may do so by the simple method of engaging a Chinese manager, to whom the concern must be entirely submitted. The result is that, go where you may in Mongolia, you find the poor Mongol standing between two fires. On the one side is his feudal lord, who insists on due and strict obedience to his behests, which have all the authority of hoary tradition behind them. On the other side stands the wily, cute, and ever-alert Chinese, exploiting his patron for his own benefit, and steadily amassing wealth which in time he will carry back to his ancestral home, and live happy ever after. Marriage and burial customs in this strange and silent 288 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA land are astonishing in their simplicity. As in China, so in Mongolia, all marriages are arranged by “go- betweens,” though there is not necessarily that seclusion of the woman and that ignorance of one another that is common in China. In Mongolia a young fellow may see and fancy a girl for his wife. But he knows nothing of the preliminary joys of courtship. His father will arrange the whole transaction, and the engagement need not absorb much time. Purchase- money is always exacted from the bridegroom and his friends. According to their respective stations in life the terms are arranged by mutual consent. Yet in the poorer classes the value of a buxom girl does not exceed a pony or a couple of oxen, which, having been handed over on behalf of the prospective bridegroom, are immediately sold, and the proceeds devoted to the purchase of a trousseau (clothing and jewellery) which the young bride will carry with her to her new home. It was a comfort to learn that not all the Mongol dead are treated in the crude and callous fashion related in the previous chapter. That is the common, the popular method, but with the wealthiest people crema- tion is sometimes practised. But my old guide added, “ That is a very expensive method. You must invite the Lamas to officiate then. They will come in their robes, they will recite their liturgy for hours at a stretch, they will go through all sorts of elaborate and _ useless ceremonies, and all that cannot be done without great expense, which very few of us are able to afford.” Quite evidently my friend preferred the less expensive method. The way to Wa Pu led us over tolerably easy ground, though away to either side of us stretched ominously the limitless sand-deserts. We saw nothing in the way of habitation, nor a single individual all the morning, THE LONELY WAY TO KU LU KOU 289 but at 11.15 we reached two rough windowless and doorless huts standing in lonely ugliness on the plain. This was to be our lodging for the night, our guide informing us that we had now reached the soda manufactory of Wa Pu. The land for miles round this place is full of alkali, which is worked for all it is worth by gangs of men from K’u Lu Kou. In the place itself we found only two or three men cooks, while out on the plains were groups of men, forty all told, busily engaged in piling up small earth-mounds like Chinese graves. Their custom is to work through the spring and summer, in the latter portion carting the mounds to the furnace, where by a primitive method of condensation they are converted into blocks of soda. That in the early autumn is transported to K’u Lu Kou, whence it is sold to purchasers within the wall. It is a hard life to which these poor fellows are devoted in that lonely plain. They had already had their midday meal of coarse millet when we arrived, and I saw them no more that day after they went out to their digging. Long after I had lain down to sleep, I heard them returning to the huts. It was then quite dark, and for a time the clatter of tongues and millet-bowls resounded through the place. At two o’clock next morning the overseer had called them up. Breakfast was then awaiting them in the form of “kao-liang” (tall millet), and I heard the cook calling on each man to bring his bowl with him. In half an hour they had gone, to work in the same dreary, wearying fashion on the plains, and so each day would come and go with unvarying monotony for two or more months. They were a hard, devil-may-care band of fellows, ready for any form of mischief or wildness, and yet the innate courtesy of the East asserted itself even in these rough labourers, when 20 290 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA they cheerfully gave up the best room they had for a passing stranger, and stretched themselves in weary abandon on the floor. Two days before our arrival a band of brigands had passed a little to the west of them, going east, and, so far as they knew, the road to K’u Lu Kou was clear just then. But every man who spoke had the same ending to every statement: “You can never vouch for any of these roads, for the bandits have a trick of suddenly appearing when you least expect them, and you never know where they are going to turn up next.” At six o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, May 23rd, we were once more on the road, guided by one of the odd men hanging about this quaint industrial centre of the plain. It had been very rough, but very welcome, hospitality we received there; for, spending a great part of the day with them, we had been enabled to hang up all our sodden garments and bed clothing, and have them dried for use before evening came. We had not been going long before Shu Feng in a mysterious whisper drew my attention to a large caravan of animals and men approaching towards us. His thought, sharpened by the weird tales to which he had been listening the previous night, instantly suggested brigands, and for some time we watched them very intently. But before we were able to make them clearly out, they turned from the main road, sharply to the west, and then we concluded they were a caravan of camels, doubtless carrying goods from K’u Lu Kou into the heart of the deserts. One peculiarity of the landscape in this section was the presence of a number of sheets of water lying away half a mile east of the road. The first of these was much the largest, stretching 2 miles along the road, and varying *16z ‘d aovs OF, ‘NOM AT AM OL AVAL NO ‘SNIVId @HL NI LNAL SIH DXIAOK TOONOK THE LONELY WAY TO KU LU KOU 291 in width from 400 to 600 yards. The water is clear but very brackish, and the natives informed us that. in the sand-hills lying west of us, between the road and the Lao Ho, there is a large lake named the “ Tsajah- noerh,” fully ro miles long, and from 2 to 3 miles wide. This lake I had hoped to include in our itinerary, but learning that it lay 30 miles out of our direct road, and realising the sorry condition into which both our- selves and the animals were gradually being reduced owing to the poor fare we were all having, I did not feel justified in turning aside at that point. Had we been able to replenish our stores, we should gladly have made the trip, but our Lao Ho bath had robbed us of much of our surplus provision, and so made the additional tramp impossible. Having gone 12 miles that morning, we found a settlement named Nai Lin, where we had breakfast, and changed our guide. Just before reaching that village I had a stroke of good luck in meeting a couple of ox-carts removing a Mongol tent from one place to another. The first cart contained the tent itself, and the second was not overloaded with the entire household possessions of the man. Slowly and ponderously they came towards us, and as they came I got a “snap” here reproduced, probably one of the rarest “snaps” in existence. It is possible to travel through Mongolia for weeks at a time, and not once come across so unique and distinctive a Mongol picture as that I was fortunate enough to secure. By this time the weather was beginning to be very hot, and while we rested after our meal the difficulty with us all was to find a place where we could shelter from the fierce rays of the sun. In the hut was a frail old woman of eighty, and the “k’ang” was heated for her comfort so hot that I could not remain upon it. The stable 292 TRAMPS IN iDARK MONGOLIA first, and later the “ts’ao-p’eng” (straw shed) were the coolest spots I could find, and in the shed I stretched my limbs in idle luxury, as I lay among the straw and thought of England and home. ‘That night we rested at Ha La Ying Tzu, 37 miles from the Old River, and there I spent the night in the open air, a more preferable spot than the dirty room into which my men packed themselves. We had been compelled to leave the main road somewhat and divert to the east. The first. place we stopped at we could not find accommodation. A little stranger—more important than we—had arrived but a short time before us, and considering that the new baby had a prior claim to us, we went forward guided now by the happy father of a healthy boy. Then we stopped at a second hut, where all the men were absent, and only two women at home. Eventually a mile further on we reached the place named above. No one at home but a little lad of twelve, but we took possession of shanty and yard, and for the: night: made ourselves as comfortable as we could. Yuan Min and Marisami first declared their intention of sharing my room—the open air—and ensconced themselves in grain baskets they found in the yard. But as evening drew near they hankered after the room with the “k’ang,” and ended by depositing themselves among the others inside. As for myself, I slept like an infant for several hours, my cheeks fanned by gentle breezes, and with the wondering stars as watchers over my bed. The day following proved quite the most exhausting of our two months’ trip. By 5.40 we were on the road. We had with difficulty secured two men who went with us for 2 or 3 miles, then turned us over to a young fellow who, very’ unwillingly, had to accom- pany us for 35 miles. He spoke excellent Chinese, THE LONELY WAY TO KU LU KOU 293 and was one of the best helpers we had, though our going into his district gave him a 70 miles tramp (for he had to walk home after leaving us), and led him to share in some of our privations. He had been sent to us by the petty official of the territory, whose servant he was, and his instructions were not to leave us until he had handed us over to some other responsible per- son. Naturally, he was anxious to get through with his task as quickly as possible, and very early wanted us to leave the main road and break in west to find a settlement. That suggestion, however, we over-ruled, and kept on the main road all day. And we got it too! For that day we travelled 70 li (23 miles), and on all that weary march we saw neither man nor hut. Animals there were on the plain, grazing contentedly in their scores and hundreds, absolutely unattended, wandering at their own sweet will wherever fancy led them, or pasturage tempted them to stray. One drove we tried to count, and made out something like four hundred ponies, all young and unbroken, disporting themselves like kittens whenever the humour for play seized them. We had travelled 50 li (17 miles) without a rest. We had had no breakfast to speak of, our general plan being to take a snack of something and a cup of coffee in the early morning, and have breakfast at our first stage. We were dragging our weary bodies along, hot, hungry, thirsty, yet not a hut of any kind could we see, and our guide declared we should meet nothing for 6 or 7 miles more. Then we looked about for a convenient spot where we could get shelter from the sun for ourselves, and water and grass for the animals. We reached some sparse willow shrubs, and crouched beneath them out of the sun. Parched with thirst, Yuan Min volunteered to seek for water, and going 294 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA off with tins and cups found a pool a mile and a half away. To that pool the plucky lad made two trips, and never was messenger more gladly welcomed than he as we stood round in a group and took our turns at the drinking. The animals, hobbled lest they wandered too far, picked up such scanty grass as they could find, while we ransacked the food-box for something we could eat. The heat was intense, and our thirst and discomfort were correspondingly great. We spent a couple of hours there, and after the animals had been led to the pool and watered, we had to move on once more. Thesun poured down his pitiless rays upon us as we tramped. No water that we dared to drink did we meet for the next 6 miles, and yet frequently we came on holes by the wayside which had been dug by former caravans to find water, and it was both most comical and pitiable to see how the poor, parched men raced to these holes, and kneeling down by the side scraped up in their tins the muddy fluid that had gathered at the bottoms. A great shout of joy went up from us all when we espied a sheet of water in the distance right alongside the road, and saw a drove of cows go down to drink. But when we reached the spot—and I was first there, having galloped ahead on Hansl—we found the water to be stagnant and impure, and none of us, thirsty as we were, dared to touch that which a few minutes before had looked so tempting and refreshing. We had at length to turn off from the main road to the west, to seek the house of a wealthy man at Ya Li Sen Ta, where we were received and entertained for the night. We found the house less than a mile away hidden behind the sand-hills, but any vision that may be conjured up by my use of the word “wealthy” would be speedily dismissed by a sight of the “mansion” we found. It was a humble cottage of three rooms built in the ordinary THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU KOU 295 Chinese style, the centre room serving the double purpose of entrance hall and kitchen, while on either side were the living and sleeping rooms, with the “k’ang” constantly heated and covered with dirty felt. The man who met us was a mild and gentle-mannered man who prof- fered instantly the best he had. That best had to be shared with his family, and when it is known that in addition to himself, his wife, and two sons there were his father and mother, it will be realised that the accom- modation was somewhat scanty. I therefore spread my camp-bed in the little yard at the front of the house, my men occupied one room, and the Mongol family in some way or another packed themselves into the other. We had been there perhaps a couple of hours, and I was lazily dozing on my open-air bed, when a terrific barking of dogs and shoutingof children roused us to look out. Into the settlement at a gallop rode ten or a dozen men, and made straight for the well in front of our residence. “ Brigands!” was the first thought of every one of us, and for a while we lay and watched pro- ceedings. There was that in their jovial andhappy manner, however, which at the distancelooked reassuring,and when we learned that they were not brigands but sportsmen, we went out and mixed with them, while they related in voluble language—alas, that it was Mongolian !—their several exploits in the chase after rabbits. Among them was the father of our host, a healthy, ruddy-cheeked man of fifty-five, accompanied by his grandson, a bonny lad of twelve, equally eager and bright. Eight or ten dogs were with the party, and while the village curs snarled and snapped at their heels, these hunting dogs behaved with absolute indifference, sticking close to the heels of the horses as they were led about to cool off. These dogs were big and bony, and save that they had long hair, somewhat resembled our greyhounds. They were an 296 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA entirely different breed to the average house-dog evi- dently well trained, and kept for sport only. The Mon- gols are accustomed to assembling three days each month for hunting, and at this meet there were said to be fully a thousand men present. Their methods are primitive and crude, and consist in chasing the frightened hare at a gallop, and flinging, when within reach, a curved club about 2 feet long, heavily weighted with lead at the curved end, and thrown with such unerring accuracy that they rarely fail to bring down their game. Their dogs retrieve the quarry, and the trophies are hung—as they were in this case—to the crupper of the wooden saddles, reminding one of the scalps secured and carried in pride by the Red Indian of former days. It was in this house I learned the meaning of the shaven heads of almost all the women above fifty I had seen since entering the plains. The old lady of the household had her head shaven as clean as that of a Lama, and the custom is that when a woman reaches fifty years of age she must shave off all her hair and become the family priest, to the extent of burning the needful incense, and worshipping daily at the simple shrine of the Buddha. Should a woman become a widow before the age of fifty, she may be required to shave her head then, a custom which occasionally is practised by men, the father of our guide having himself become a Lama on reaching a certain age. Another quaint custom was brought to our notice, when the muleteer wanted to purchase from our host some corn for his animals. The husband seemed willing enough to sell, but his wife for some time vetoed the proposal, and a very animated conversation ensued. Then we were informed that she would not consent to sell until assured by our muleteer that he would use some of that same corn to feed the animals before LAMA TEMPLE, KE KE MIAO. See p. 323. MONGOL WIDOW WITH SHAVEN HEAD, 82 YEARS OLD, AND ONE OF OUR GUIDES. THE LONELY WAY TO.K’U LU KOU 297 we started off next morning. And then it came out that no Mongol will carry with him provision for more than five days, trusting that at the end of that time he will have met some hospitable spot where his com- missariat can be replenished. Even after the woman had carefully measured out the corn and poured it into the bag, she suddenly took back two or three small fingers full and threw it back into her measure. The simple reason of that was given in the phrase, which perhaps more than anything else points the motive of conduct, “Oh, we always do that here.” So powerful is the sentiment of “ old custom.” Under my extemporised shed I slept in comfort till 3 a.m. Then rain began to fall, and with the assist- ance of Shu Feng I dragged my bed into the entrance of the hut, and lay there till the shadows gave place to the dawn. Then up rose the females of the house- hold, and I, to get the better of their innocent but inconvenient curiosity, was compelled to struggle into my garments under the bedclothes, and thus baffled their attempts to learn how the foreigner dressed. We lunched that day at Liu T’iao Ying Tzu, 10 miles from Ya Li Sen Ta, and there we had a somewhat acrimonious discussion with two petty officials who resented being called upon to provide us with a guide to the next post. The lad who had come so far with us, and shared both our hunger and thirst, now left us for his 35 miles walk back to his home, and when we did start off again, it was under the guidance of one of these aforesaid officials, who spoke not a word of Chinese, and helped us to a practise of that patience the Westerner in the East displays so rarely. The merry- looking old lady, with shaven head and bony hands, whose picture is reproduced here, along with the guide so often mentioned, was the senior member of the 298 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA household at this settlement, and the excellent photo of her was made possible through her inordinate curiosity concerning the little Kodak I carried on my _ back. Here also I purchased for the sum of ten cents (24d.) one of the curved clubs used in hunting the hares, and which I still remain as a relic of my visit to these regions. With our new guide we made some 7 miles, when he insisted on turning aside to the west. We wrangled and fumed, he in Mongolian, I in Chinese, but we got “no forrader” with our discussion, and realising our helplessness without a guide, we had to follow the man, and in a small hamlet of a couple of huts secured a poor chap who escorted us to our evening station. We came upon him at an unhappy time. Four days prior to our visit the brigands had suddenly come upon his home- stead. Of fifteen ponies owned by him, they carried off nine of the best, to say nothing of ransacking the house for anything of value they could find. In an outhouse lay the elder brother of the man, sobbing and moaning out his life in grief for his loss, and in such a condition of pain and anger that we were powerless to help him. Under the direction of this new man we proceeded to the village of Kao Kao Ts’ai, a two-house settlement on the main road, yet hidden in the heart of the sand- hills. The good cart-road we had followed from Hai Liu T’u had now disappeared, the sand having come in upon us from either side, and we had again to repeat our toilsome experiences of tramping over fine soft sand which covered the face of the landscape. We were now in the territory of Fu Hsing Hsien and the Mongol Banner of K’u Lu, and found a peculiarity of custom in the fact that many of the Lamas were married men, living in their own homes with their wives and families, paying occasional visits to the central monastery of THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU KOU 299 K’u Lu Kou, and dependent for their livelihood upon the energy of their sons and womenkind. We had been told that here we should be the guests of the “shih-chang ”—that is, the head constable of the district—and anticipated a somewhat superior enter- tainment. During the day we had been very successful with the gun, and Marisami and I between us had brought down nine birds, which included two pheasants, a plover and snipe. We had them ready to be cooked for our evening meal. We were only one day’s journey from K’u Lu Kou. Hence we felt quite proud of ourselves, in prospect of a comfortable time at Kao Kao Ts’ai. Alas for our anticipations! Kao Kao Ts’ai remains the most unpleasant memory of our trip. The two principal men were the constable above named, and a married Lama of sixty years of age. They both spoke good Chinese, but I should think were amongst the most unprincipled rascals we met in Mongolia. Their whole conduct, beginning with an ungracious reception, and ending with an angry wrangle, made our stay with them a perfect misery. They were coarse in their speech and insolent in their curiosity ; their covet- ousness and greed knew neither limit nor shame; they attempted extortion on a lavish scale when we purchased grain from them, and it was only when I threatened to report them to their prince on my arrival at K’u Lu Kou that they realised their duty to provide us with a guide, who accompanied us next morning to Yang Shu Mu. Yang Shu Mu (Poplar Tree Wood), with its purely Chinese name, was the largest village we had seen since leaving Hai Liu T’u, yet it consisted of no more than twenty huts, straggling along by the side of a stream bearing the same name, which flows east to join the Liao Ho in Manchuria. To reach that village we had 300 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA another weary tramp across the sand-hills, yet in an almost direct line, the route varying but one degree— the difference between 150° and 149°—in a distance of 1o miles. It was a welcome sight to meet a party of thirty or forty Chinese carpenters and masons accom- panying at a very slow pace three heavy oxen-carts, carrying their implements and belongings to the princely settlement of Ha La Chin 200 miles away, whither they were going to build a new temple. By 8.30 that morning we had travelled the 10° miles to Yang Shu Mu, and found ourselves quarters in the home of a married Lama, who had made such good use of the privileges of his order as to be the proud possessor of two wives and eight children. He was more of the man than the priest, however, and seemed all the better because he was a family man. I could not, however, persuade him to sell me his praying-wheel, though I offered him $2 (4s). for it. He seemed tempted when he saw the glistening silver in my hand, but only for a moment did he waver. Then he resolutely replied, “ Pu neng. Tui pu ch’i” (I cannot. It would be an in- sult) “Tui pu ch’i shui ni”? (An insult to whom ?) I asked him. And with the spirit of a man whose faith is dear to him above all things else, he silenced and, ina measure, rebuked me, as he replied, “Tui pu ch’i Fo Yeh” (An insult to the Buddha). I got into trouble with his principal wife also, though that was quite unintentional. The “k’ang” ran round three sides of the large room which constituted kitchen, parlour, bedroom, and everything else combined. I got a seat not far from the huo-p’en (fire-bowl), and seating myself on the “k’ang,” stretched my legs out and rested my feet comfortably against the stove. Presently in came the old lady to add some fuel to the fire, and seeing my feet where they were, but speaking no THE LONELY WAY TO K’U LU KOU 301 Chinese, angrily took her small shovel, and gave my feet a sufficiently emphatic knock to make me understand she wanted them removed. I of course instantly complied with her unspoken request, and a little later asked the old Lama wherein I had offended. He was very decent about my lapse of good breeding, which he generously attributed to my ignorance of their customs. All Mongols highly reverence the fire as being the habitation of the “ Huo-shen” (God of Fire), and that is why, summer and winter, with them the fires are never allowed to go out. But “ do you seriously believe there is a god in the fire?” I incredulously asked. And in the most sincere manner the dignified old priest made answer, “ Of course there is a fire-god, present.in the flames, whom we must honour and worship.” I pass on the experience to my readers who may be contemplating a visit to Mongolia, and to the former notice of “‘ Beware of the dog!” I add a second, almost more important, “ Don’t insult the fire- god !” CHAPTER XIX WITH THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CH’'I WE changed our guide once more at Yang Shu Mu, and bidding farewell to our much-married Lama, were away across the little river on the last 12 miles of the lonely way to K’u Lu Kou. The sand-hills mercifully ceased about a mile beyond the stream, though away to the east they still reared their graceful heads, as bold as ever. We, however, were not sorry to be done with them, and not a man of us but hoped he would see them no more for ever. Hill-climbing may fatigue you, the limitless plain satiate you with monotony unspeakable, but for genuine fatigue and weariness nothing can match a tramp across the sand-hills. Fortunately for us, in all the miles we had had to cross, we encountered neither high winds nor fierce sun, so we could congratulate ourselves on getting through under quite the most favourable circumstances. We travelled slowly and comfortably a distance of 7 miles to Shih Pei, a small village on the north bank of a narrow stream only 20 feet wide. The stream was named after the village, and flows east to unite with the Liao Ho. Here we changed guides, though we scarcely any longer needed one. Three miles from K’u Lu Kou we climbed an easy gradient called Feng Shui Liang (Wind and Water Pass), 830 feet high, and 302 THE MONGOLS OF THE KU LU CHT 303 by 2 p.m. were within the mud walls of the town itself. We were in luxury here, for we found accommodation in the Kung Hsin Tien, a large and commodious inn kept by Chinese, and boasting three compounds, Here we were more comfortable than we had been since leaving Hata three weeks before. We had not been long settled, and I had just finished a capital meal, prepared in Chinese fashion, and eaten with the best of all relish—hunger, when I was informed that an elderly Lama wished to see me. I had him shown into my room at once. His name was Meng; his clothes were a gorgeous yellow; his head was shaved ; his voice was loud; his manners rude. He was clearly a man with a great opinion of himself and his own powers, and entered the room with the air of a duke visiting a dependent. I received him with due ceremony, and then quietly awaited developments. First of all, he wanted to know who we were, and where we had come from? Questions like those are asked and answered a dozen times a day in China, so we had no hesitation in satisfying him. And then my lord bluntly informed me that we could not have the rooms we were occupying, for, acting on instructions from his prince, he had reserved all the accommodation there for some members of Prince Su’s suite, who were expected to arrive almost any day. Now this is so old a trick in China that its novelty had long ago worn off with me. Men clothed in a little brief authority, petty officials and prejudiced gentry have frequently managed to make things very uncomfortable for foreign travellers by denying them admission to inns, and hustling them from one place to another till they leave the town in disgust. It was a very bland and innocent face I turned to Mr. Meng as I asked him 304 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA how that could be, since I was already in possession of the rooms. Moreover, when first we had reached the inn the landlord had informed me that the principal rooms had been so reserved, but, pressed to find us other quarters, had led us to the second compound, and given us the suite we were then occupying. Mr. Meng looked very much astonished when I told him that these rooms were so eminently satisfactory, that I did not propose to vacate them till I left the town, and as to that, I should please myself without asking advice from him. “But there are plenty of good inns besides this in the town,” he replied. “Then you will have the less difficulty in finding accommodation for the officers,” I replied. “But I must have these rooms for our guests,” he retorted. “T am very sorry to appear rude, but I cannot think of putting my men—already tired with a very heavy journey—to the trouble of repacking and removing to another inn,” was my reply. Thinking he had a weak point there, the wily old priest responded, “Oh, it will not cause either your honour or your honour’s men any trouble. I have men here who will shift and carry, pack and run for you as much as you like.” And so the discussion ran on, in perfect Oriental fashion, outwardly courteous, yet inwardly mad, both of us. At length the Briton in me bowled the Chinese out, and producing my passport, I asked my uninvited guest to read it. He professed himself unable to read Chinese, which was quite probably the truth, though he spoke it well,so I gave him the gist of the passport, and told him that on the strength of that I claimed the right to remain where I was until I chose to leave the town on Tuesday morning. I also warned him that if either I or my men were subjected to any THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CHI 305 inconvenience or annoyance, I should report him to his prince when I met him next day, and if that failed there were still the higher authorities from whose hands I had received the passport I now laid on the table before him. Mention of the prince seemed to take the old gentle- man by surprise. “What?” he asked incredulously ; “are you going to meet our prince?” “Most decidedly I am,” was my answer, though I was not then sure that an interview would be granted me; “and it depends on how we are treated here as to what I shall say to him about you.” Poor old Meng! He was properly defeated, and left my room in high dudgeon, and for the next two days sat at the front of the inn watching us pass to and fro, though never venturing to speak or smile. Possibly there was another explanation of his conduct. Just before my visit a party of three Japanese had visited the town with a roulette table, staying for three weeks and bleeding the unsophisticated native. At Ha Ta Kai, 30 miles east, whither they went after leaving kK’u Lu Kou, a young Mongol soldier had spun the wheel and won what was said to be a valuable gold watch. The Japanese were unwilling to let the man have his prize, and a dispute took place, in the course of which one of the Japanese drew a revolver and shot the Mongol dead. On hearing the news, the comrades of the murdered man took the law into their own hands, went in a body, and killed the Japanese who had shot him, took the other two prisoners, and handed them over to the nearest Japanese officer, by whom they were escorted to Mukden for trial. When I heard this tale I could not help thinking that possibly old priest Meng, hearing that there had arrived in the town a couple of foreigners, one white and the other black, had come to the conclusion that this was another “ Monte Carlo” party, 21 306 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA which had better be hustled out of the town as quickly as possible. We also found that all round the district the Japanese had made themselves most unpopular and greatly detested. Low-class traders of all kinds and both sexes had been allowed to crowd into Manchuria on the heels of the army, and, unchecked either by their own or Chinese officials, had gone off on the rampage, cheating here and pilfering there, and by their blackguardly conduct bringing the good name of a brave and warlike nation into serious disrepute. As soon as the old priest had left my room, I sent off my writer, Weng, with my card and “shu-pen” to offer my greetings to the Lama prince, and to say that, if convenient, I would wait upon him next day at any hour he might fix. The reply was that on that day the prince had special ecclesiastical duties which would keep him all day, but that on Monday morning at ten he would be happy to receive me. Of that interview I shall speak presently. The luxury of a fairly decent room, and the good meals we were now having, went a long way to make us all on good terms with ourselves. Now no need to rise before the sun, and tramp the livelong day over shrinking sand-hills. To rise at seven, have a good wash and a shave, and sit down to what our former privations now -exalted into a meal for a prince, was the summit of bliss and the acme of contentment. I took the opportunity of developing some of my accu- mulated plates and films, while the boys, on the Sunday, called in a barber, and Marisami distinguished himself and celebrated the day by having his head shaved like a Lama, and his fine crop of silky black hair dropped into the stock of a peripatetic hairdresser. ‘The town, when I took a stroll round it, 1 found THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CHI 307 to be quite the quaintest town of any we saw on our travels. Ninety miles from Hsin Min Fu, the nearest point on the Imperial Railway and 130 miles from Mukden, it is built on the sloping sides of the hills which encircle it, while the principal street stands on either side of a gully that varies in depth from 40 to 60 feet. A small stream trickles through eastward, and it is crossed at intervals by rude and crazy wooden bridges. The land surrounding is of the loess formation, gullies here and crevices there lending a picturesqueness to the scene that helped somewhat in photography. Temples there are in plenty, for a town so small and compact. Apart from the monastery situated in the valley east of the town, the finest temple was that at the west end dedi- cated to the God of War, where appropriately enough, a company of cavalry belonging to the army of General Ma Yi K’iin was in residence. The town is said to contain over two thousand families, and three hundred business houses, and has several large and commodious inns. One feature of the inns is that there is usually a thoroughfare through their compounds from one street to another, commonly used both by pedestrians and mounted men. Of large stores and shops there is not the slightest sign, and it is somewhat difficult to believe that so much trade is done here as is credited to the town. Where the two thousand families are packed away is somewhat of a mystery till you take a stroll through the town, and notice how the -main streets are intersected with little alleyways and compounds in which the people have built their cottages and made their homes. Then you discover that so far as the business places are concerned, one large courtyard may accommodate anything from four to ten different establishments ; and as no great warehouse space is required for stock, it is wonderful how much business can \be put through 308 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA in what the Chinese call a “san chien wu-tzu” (three- division room). The principal regular trade is done in skins, brought in from the four quarters by the settlers and nomads, and sent to Mukden and thence to Newchuang for export to Western lands. But the great time of the year, the time to visit the town and see it at its best, is at the great horse-fair in the seventh moon, when animals sent down from the plains are sold to dealers from Mukden, Shan Hai Kuan, and Tientsin, and sometimes even from more distant places. At the time we were there, we inquired in vain for likely ponies. Everything that could amble or canter on four legs had been bought up by both parties to the conflict but recently concluded in Manchuria, and as a result prices had run up to such abnormal dimensions, that from T’a Tzu Kou to Ch’ao Yang, and all the way round, horses and oxen were being sold for much higher prices than were being asked in Tientsin. An unrecorded episode of the war, relating to the purchase of animals in this town, was told to me while I was there, and may not be without its interest here. A Chinese named Wang Fu Ma, a native of the province of Shantung, and quite evidently a man of the adventurer class, had taken service with the Russians, and obtained official rank, Rumour in K’u Lu Kou gives him the rank of a major. His was the task of replenishing the constantly depleting stores of the commissariat, and he made frequent visits to K’u Lu Kou for the purchase of animals and produce. On one of these trips, in conjunction with a resident in the town, a Mahommedan also named Wang, three thousand head of cattle had been bought and were being got ready for the march to Mukden. The Mahommedan, having concluded a profitable deal as middleman for the THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CHI 309 Russians, was not averse to making another honest (?) penny out of their enemies, and surreptitiously sent a message to a notorious brigand chief named Chin Shou Shan, who was in the pay of the Japanese. On the morning of the third day of the sixth moon (July 15, 1904), without any preliminary warning, Chin Shou Shan and his merry men swooped down upon the large and hapless Russian party; a short scrap took place, which ended in the capture and killing of Major Wang Fu Ma and one of his servants, while Chin Shou Shan had two of his men killed. He drove away part of the oxen he found there, the remainder being at once appropriated by the Mahommedan who had betrayed Wang Fu Ma to the Japanese levies. Chin Shou Shan, however, learning of this, and acting on the principle that a traitor has forfeited his right to live, returned to the town, decapitated the Mahommedan in the public street, and so terrorised the people that to this day no one dares to claim relationship with the traitor. Later, a Japanese officer and the Ch’ao Yang official went to investigate the affair, but the result of their inquiry no one at K’u Lu Kou knew. Wang Fu Maand the other men killed with him were buried a little north of the town at a place called Hei Chih Yao, while rumour appointed Chin Shou Shan to a good position under the Japanese at Newchuang, where he was said to be commanding troops known as the Meng Chih Tui. The most interesting event of K’u Lu Kou was un- doubtedly my visit to the Lama monastery of that name, and my interview with the young Lama prince who rules there. Riding my pony, and accompanied by Weng on a mule, we rode along the valley, and reached the main gate of the monastery just before ten o’clock on the Monday morning. The grounds of the monas- 310 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA tery cover some 80 or Ioo acres, and we had to ride a considerable distance inside before we reached the quarter where the prince resides. We were, of course, expected, and as the guests of the abbot-prince were everywhere received with outward signs of courtesy and respect. Dismounting at the gate of a large courtyard, we were met by a young Lama who spoke excellent Chinese, escorted into a clean and well-furnished room, and subjected to a few minutes close but respectful catechism. All this we understood to be for the purpose of giving information to his prince. Leaving us seated sipping tea in his room, the Lama went to announce our arrival to his master, and we had time to note the decorations of the room. On the walls were hanging two modern magazine rifles, two swords, and three watches, all going, and one of them a small, dainty lady’s gold hunting-watch. While we sat there, a few curious but very quiet Lamas came to have a look at us, but attempts: to induce them to talk—whether from lack of desire or lack of ability—failed. Soon the young Lama returned, and announced that the prince was ready to receive us. I had dressed myself in the best garments I had with me, but I wished just then for ten minutes among my wardrobe at home. Though an extra suit— preferably with a long coat—may be somewhat of an encumbrance on a journey, it is desirable to have one for such ceremonious calls as now awaited me. Weng had also felt his deficiency, and had done his best with a limited wardrobe, but at the best we looked—as indeed we felt—a couple of tramping clod- hoppers alongside a dainty courtier. Passing through yet two more compounds, we came to a large and well- paved courtyard, in which the abbot-prince has his private apartments. The building, with a 6-foot verandah in front, was elaborately decorated in blue “OM QT OM AO AONINU—VNVT NYLAGIL THE MONGOLS OF THE K’'U LU CHT 311 and gold; and though I cannot imagine any foreigner with artistic taste decorating his house in that fashion, yet the general effect was not unpleasing. I had been wondering with what special ceremony one was required to meet a “huo-Fo” (living Buddha). All his Lamas and even the resident gentry of the district, in the presence of one so great and holy, are required to kneel down, and “k’é tou” (knock the head). Not being prepared to go so far in my obeisance, yet not wishing surlily to withhold such honour as was his due, and, moreover, not being accustomed to come so close to incarnate sainthood, up to the time of entering his private com- pound I had not solved the problem of how I was to meet him. Fortunately for me, the prince himself settled the difficulty. Without waiting for us to reach his rooms, he came out to welcome us, gave me the customary official salutation by bending the right knee, and dropping the right hand to the ground. I instantly followed suit, and my difficulty was at an end. The whole demeanour of the man was pleasing and cordial. He was a bright-looking and intelligent man of thirty years of age, rather under the medium height, and with a face that, with its high cheek-bones, thin lips, and straight nose, was neither Mongolian nor Chinese. It came out in conversation that he was of Tibetan extraction, though he had never been any nearer to Tibet than Kansuh. And, wise man, he had decided that when he does make a pilgrimage to Tibet, it will not be by the wild and lonely route across the western mountains, but by the comparatively easy route of steamer to Calcutta, train through India as far as it will carry him, and then follow the route of the 1904 expedi- tion. He is modern enough to appreciate the Western methods. of travelling. It was when we observed his clothing that we more 312 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA than ever felt what tramps we looked and were, though my apology for our appearance was smilingly waved aside as unnecessary. His Highness was dressed, not extravagantly, but neatly, in rich silk garments of a deep purple colour, edged with gold braid, his cap being made of similar material He spoke beautiful and clear Chinese, in the Peking dialect, though he professed himself unable to read the character, and at his request I translated for him the official description of myself in my “shu-pen.” This he carefully wrote at length in Mon- golian characters, and so has among his archives the record of a visit from “Chu Yung P’ing Fu, Ying Kuo, Ye Su Chiao-hui, Sheng Tao T’ang, Mu-shih Hai Ta Li” (Resident at Yung Ping Fu, British Protestant and Methodist Church Pastor Hedley). Much good may it do him! His rooms were beautifully clean and artistically decorated, the wood carving being of very fine quality. The special feature of his reception-room, however, was the number of clocks he had, so emulating the late Empress-Dowager, whose rooms in 1900 were found to contain numerous and quaint specimens of the clock- maker’s art. Here there were four hanging on the walls, and eight arranged on the tables behind the dais. Not one of them was going, and my inquiries elicited that he had bought them on one of his visits to Mukden, because he thought they were “hao k’an” (good to see). I am afraid I did not share his opinions, since they were all of gaudy Japanese patterns and designs, and certainly not specially ornamental. We chatted together for over an hour in the most free-and-easy manner, as if we were acquaintances of many years’ standing. Liquid refreshment, apart from tea, being offered and declined, our host called for cigarettes, lit one and then offered it first to me and then to Weng, Neither of us appre- THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CHT 313 ciating the honour of smoking a cigarette that had touched the lips of a prince, he kept on smoking it him- self, and followed it up by several others while we were there. Our conversation ranged over a variety of topics. He was much interested in the account of our trip that J gave him, though he himself had never been over the ground. He was anxious to know the latest news from Manchuria, and to learn what were the prospects of that unhappy country now that peace was declared. The impending visit of Prince Su to the Mongol dependencies was as much a mystery to him as it had been to all the other officials and dignitaries we had met; at least he pretended to, and sought to pick my brains as to what was intended to be done. Things in Peking in particular, and in China generally, came within our purview, and he, like all dwellers in the East, indulged himself in speculations as to the ultimate issue of the unrest of recent years. Even the refractory Dalai Lama then at Urga (known as Ta K’u Lu) did not escape the facetious criticism of this quick-witted abbot on the borders of the desert, and he did not hesitate to indulge in a few sly jokes at the expense of the dispossessed Pope of Lamaism. He was insistent that he and I were both from the West, and seemed to think that Tibet and England were adjacent countries, with a common frontier. His geography was certainly at fault, and he seemed vastly surprised when I enlightened him. But however free in conversation on all these various topics, he was very chary of religion, and whenever I tried to lead him to speak of the resemblances and differences between his creed and mine, he adroitly changed the subject, and would, with a genial smile or an evasive remark, show that he would have none of it. He was anxious to provide us with an escort for the trip to Ch’ao Yang Fu; 314 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA but on receiving his assurance that the district was. undisturbed, and that all the way along we should find Chinese inns, we told him that we much preferred to travel alone. He, however, insisted on giving me one of his Mongolian cards, and said that if we needed anything on the way from his people, we had simply to produce that card and get what we required in his name. His reception of us and his whole deportment were in marked contrast to the hectoring behaviour of his satellite, Mr. Meng, in the inn, and induced my writer to venture the Chinese proverb, “ Yen Wang hao chien, hsiao kuei nan tang” (To interview his satanic majesty is easy, the difficulty lies with the small devils). He showed me, seeking information, a present made to him some months before by a foreigner in Chinese dress, but speaking very poor Chinese. It was a small, undressed female wax-doll, with the regulation red cheeks and blue eyes, and still bearing on its single garment the ticket which showed it had been purchased for ninety cents. I felt angry with my unknown compatriot when I saw this; for in the first place it looked like an ill- conceived piece of funny sarcasm to give such a thing to an intelligent man like my host; and, secondly, he had of course got the idea that it was an image of a foreign god which we were in the habit of honouring with our worship. Before leaving the prince, I asked and obtained per- mission to take a few photographs of the temple, and,em- boldened by success, I wenta little further, and asked if he would allow me to have a “snap” at him. Not only did he consent to this, but he wished to have a photo taken in company with me, but no operator being available, that was not possible. Finished with him, he then asked me to take a picture of his favourite riding pony, and I “bre ‘d aoe) oF, ‘(MOINALX) TIVH LNOMA— 20M AT AM LY ATdNAL VINWT THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CHT 315 tried my camera upon a beautiful black creature, with a lovely coat like shining satin. These, with two “snaps” of his private apartments, made very acceptable additions to my stock. Taking leave of the prince, we were shown round all the principal parts of the temple, and a most beautiful place it proved itself to be. Its foundation dates back no further than the beginning of the present dynasty, some 260 years ago, yet it contains no fewer than a thousand Lamas, and the arrangement and decoration of the place can without exaggeration be described as unique. The history of its foundation was told to me by the prince himself, and has quite a St. George and the Dragon flavour about it. Once upon a time there was a great hole or cavern in the side of the hill where the monastery now stands, inhabited by a ferocious and mysterious animal who by its depredations ‘spread havoc among the people, killing and eating whoever came in his way. Eventually an ancestor of the present prince, by clever strategy and great courage, put this terrible monster to death, rid the country of a pest, and delivered the people from its terrors. Asa thankoffering to the Buddha, the reign- ing emperor ordered the founding and erection of this monastery, and rewarded the valiant man by making him its first abbot, and giving him the high honour of being the first prince of the K’u Lu Kou Ch’, or Banner. The site of the cave is said to be underneath the throne of the prince in the main hall of the temple, and was pointed out to me by the Lama secretary when I was in the hall. This principal hall is a splendid building, fully 100 feet square, with massive stone pillars painted in red and gold, the artists being Lamas residing in the temple. There are six separate aisles with carpeted stools raised 316 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA some 6 inches from the floor, and on these the Lamas sit to chant their prayers, while high above them all is the throne of the prince, their living Buddha. Further back are gods and beautifully painted pictures, all of which have also been done by their own Lamas, There are several sets of shelves with the Buddhist scrip- tures wrapped carefully up in yellow cloth. Near them, and behind the throne, is a shrine to the Buddha, before which there burns a lamp that is never allowed to be extinguished, and the entire place has an appearance of richness and cleanliness that is all too rare in China. Upstairs there is another hall, or gallery, with an open space looking down into the hall just described. Here are eight golden Buddhas not more than a foot high each, carefully guarded from dust in glass cases. These were described to me as “ ts’ai ch’ing lai liao” (just recently invited), from Lama Miao, so replacing the set carried away in 1900 by Russian troops, who went there from Hsin Min Fu, and stripped the temple of all its possessions. The temples, of course, are old buildings, but the prince’s private apartments were only erected four years before my visit. Externally the temple buildings are massive and strong, as the accompanying prints will show. The main entrance has a number of quaintly carved figures in stone, and the order and care displayed all round the grounds were most pleasing to observe. Naturally, while in our interview with the prince we had perfect quiet, and were not subject to making conversation with half a hundred underlings hanging about the doors ; in our peregrinations round the temple grounds we had an escort of quiet and curious Lamas, who were as much interested in us as we were in their beautiful monastery, yet shrank from the ordeal of facing the camera when I wanted to enlarge my stock. All “AOM AT AM LY ATL YN NT STOdT LSIHar et THE MONGOLS OF THE K’U LU CHT 317 the way round the young Lama who had met us when we first went in went with us and explained everything, and for much of the pleasure of our visit we were indebted to him. So ended my visit to the only prince I have ever con- versed with, a dignified and courtly Oriental gentleman, master of the lives and wills of a thousand Lamas, and revered and feared by the scores of superstitious Mongols that flock annually to his temple ; incarnation of Buddhistic sainthood, yet worldly-wise enough to invest his surplus wealth in profitable business; for just before I left the town I learned that he is the pro- prietor of a large hostelry, the Kuang Ho Tien, and has several other shops in K’u Lu Kou. While I had been enjoying myself with the prince, Marisami had been engaged with his plane-table in making a sketch of the town and district; but the crowds were so curious as to hinder his movements, and the work was only completed when I secured a couple of soldiers to keep the people in check. In my inn also I saw a couple of camels being loaded up for a trip through the deserts we had left, and it was very amusing to hear one of the camels protesting against every addi- tional bundle piled on her back. A rope was first passed under the body, and the camel then made to kneel down. A rough pack-saddle, composed of two poles and a piece of old felt, was then laid over the back, and bag after bag and parcel after parcel were piled on and tied securely with ropes, until each camel was carrying four hundred catties (one catty equals 14 lb.), with a place left in the centre for the man to ride on. As each additional parcel was laid on its back, one of the camels would turn round, look pathetically at the man, and utter a peculiarly mournful cry. Yet when ready for the road the docile creature got up and moved off as quietly as 318 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA though it enjoyed nothing so much as carrying heavy loads. James Gilmour has an interesting chapter on camels in “More about the Mongols,” in which he says it is always the female camel who so objects to each item in her load. Qur pleasant stay at K’u Lu Kou was slightly marred ‘by one of my men having $3 stolen from under ‘his bed. Yet so perfect is the system of responsibility among the Chinese that, without any request on our part, the loss was made good by the manager of the inn before we left. I should not have allowed my man to accept the money but that I had my own suspicions of the man who looked after the compound. He was scarcely ever out of our rooms while we were there, and had ‘more than once seen the men take money from under their beds. Whether the innkeeper hoped to make those three dollars good by an extra charge on us I cannot say, but he made a most amateur attempt at a squeeze when the presented his bill. He proposed to charge us fifty cents each man per day for rooms, and made exorbitant charges against the muleteer for straw, &c. I instructed my servant to pay all his demands, but to state before pay- ing that these charges were so unusual and so high that we should require a detailed statement of them, and should feel bound to make an inquiry about it when we got to Ch’ao Yang Fu. That acted like a charm. He at once reduced the charge against us by $2, and that against the muleteer by $3. In this way we kept both cour “face” and our money, and parted from our inn- keeper host without having exchanged one single cross word, “ANOMHL SHONINd ONLMOHS ‘90M AT AM LY GIdNaAL WNVT NI TIVH TVdIONINd AO NOIMALNI CHAPTER XX “TO CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS WE made an addition to our live-stock while at K’u Lu Kou, Weng having begged from a friend he met there a fine little Peking pug, to which we gave the name of “K’u-li,” so associating it with the town it came from. The little thing soon became a prime favourite with us all; and ‘though it seemed quickly to understand that it specially belonged to Weng, it used always to join me at meals, and then curl itself up snugly in my room for a sleep. Our road from K’u Lu Kou was south-west, and exceedingly pleasant after the rough experiences of the deserts. The sight of the hills in the distance and of cultivated fields along the way made us feel as though we were in the region of our own homes once more. We were still passing through Mongolian villages or home- steads, but we were quite finished with the “ grass-lands,” and none of us were sorry. Indeed, Marisami became quite sprightly and good-humoured again as he paced along with a martial air, as though the last of his diffi- culties in life were for ever over. We followed the great road for 20 li (7 miles) before we reached the first village, which proved to be Hata Ying Tzu, a Mongol village with no inn, and at first no disposition on the part of the people to do anything for us. But mention of the prince at K’u Lu Kou, and 319 320 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the authority he had given us to use his name, made those old Lamas hum round very quickly, and we had soon got ourselves and our animals accommodated in a good house by the roadside, where the master was a married man with two sons and three daughters. I was struck here with the large number of Lamas that seemed to be hanging round with nothing to do, and inquiry elicited the fact that in that one settlement there were from fifty to sixty married Lamas, who simply did no work of any kind whatever, wore the best clothes to be seen in the village, and ate the best of such food as there was. “T presume, of course, that you have temple duties, and regularly read prayers?” I remarked to a group of them to whom I was chatting. “Pu nien ching” (We don’t read prayers), was the answer. “Then of course you cultivate your fields,” I suggested. “Pu chung chuang chia” (No, we don’t cultivate the fields). “Then what do you do all day long ?” I asked. “Chiu shih hsien tai choa” (We just idle round all the time) was the unblushing response, and I despised my Lama friends as they, without shame, confessed to their mode of life. Can anything more pernicious for any community be imagined than for the majority of able- bodied men in one small village to be idling round from day to day, and indulging their idleness by bringing children into the world? The man in whose house we stopped had a sick wife, and no land, yet was content to lie about doing nothing, while his two sons had to keep the house going by hiring out their labour to other people. The problem of unemployment is no problem there. From Hata Ying Tzu to Wu Lan Kang Kang was 10 miles, and half-way there we came to the top of the Loa- CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS 321 Yeh Liang (His Honour’s Pass), which proved to be 1,500 feet high, or 600 feet rise from the time of leaving K’u Lu Kou. The ascent began a few li out of Hata Ying Tzu. It dropped again on the other side, and 5 li further on there was another rise, this time to 1,400 feet. How little our march varied in direction is apparent from the three readings I took with the prismatic compass :— At Ku Lu Kou __... sil sit see 234° At Hata Ying Tzu ... ue oe ss. 250° At Laoyeh Liang ... ace aaa see 2250 One other fact we noted also from the time of our reaching Yang Shu Mu north of K’u Lu Kou was that every village we passed (including, of course, Ku Lu Kou) is built on the north bank of a small stream. Hata Ying Tzu, Lama Kou, Po Li Ko Sheng, and Wu Lan Kang Kang were all alike in this respect, and these little rivers, all flowing east, we made out to be tributaries of the main stream, which 80 li (27 miles) beyond K’u Lu Kou flows east to unite with the Liao Ho. We had now neither guide nor escort, and so had some little difficulty in finding the inn that day, but stumbled on it at 3 p.m., to find it in the hands of carpenters and masons. One of its main rooms had chosen to fall down some days before, and they were just setting about the rebuilding of it. There were several donkeys already in the yard when we reached it, so the accommodation for men and beasts was rather limited. However, we got ourselves quartered in an outhouse. I spread my camp-bed on the ground. Three of my men got planks from the carpenters and made themselves wooden beds in various parts of the room, while Shu Feng and the muleteer found space on the large “k’ang” in the public room. The men in charge 22 322 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA of these donkeys being bound for Ch’ao Yang, and likely to arrive there before us, I was able, at the cost of a small tip, to send letters forward with them to announce our going. From Wu Lan Kang Kang to Fu Hsing Ti the next morning was a march of 50 li (17 miles). The road for the most part was a good cart-road, and varied but little in direction, while the country round was almost entirely under cultivation by both Chinese and Mongols. There were no high hills particularly near to us, but away to the east were several high peaks, two running up to fully 5,000 or 6,000 feet. We crossed three “ liang,” or passes, this day, measuring respectively 1,050 1,200, and 1,100 feet, but at the latter was a hill which ran up by the side of the path another 1,000 feet higher. Six li (2 miles) east of the road, just near the second of these passes, we saw the “fu” of the Earl of Ha-La-Ha, one of the many “pei-tzu-fu” (earl’s palaces) with which this district seems to abound, and concerning which no distinctions are made on most maps. This one, 70 li south-west of K’u Lu Kou, is named Ha La Ha Pei-Tzu-Fu; 130 li further on, somewhat more south, is the Meng Kou Chen Pei-tzu-fu ; 180 li due south of K’u Lu Kou, on the main road to Chin Chou Fu, is yet another ; while ro li from Fu Hsing Ti is the T’ou Mei Ch’i Pe’i-tzu-fu, and we were making for one which rejoiced in the name of Hei Ch’eng Tzu Pei-tzu-fu (The Black City Earl’s Palace), There is no wonder that travellers get confused amid such a plethora of earls’ palaces, and much to my disappointment I found that the one we visited was not the one I aimed at, where the devoted assistant and companion of James Gilmour, Liu Hsien Sheng, is the pastor of a little company of Christians. At Fu Hsien Ti we found a company of cavalry belonging to the army of General Ma, under a “t’ung CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS = 323 ling” (colonel) named Chao Chou. Nominally, there were two hundred men there. Really, not more than fifty, and they not of the best kind. I sent my card with greetings to the colonel, but was informed he was not at home, his servants merely returning his card. The men were a bold, truculent lot of fellows, settling themselves in the public room greatly to our inconvenience ; and one of them, passing the inn door, making an objectional remark about the “yang kuei-tzu” (foreign devil) who had arrived, I read him a lesson in manners, and we were not troubled with them any more. On our march this day we passed the Ke-Ke Miao, a very large and, as seen from outside, a very fine Lama temple. The main hall stood quite a distance back in the grounds, had a verandah on three sides of a second storey, and looked extremely well. There are over three hundred Lamas in connection with the temple, and I fortunately got a “snap” of one of the oldest, a ragged but mild-looking old man of eighty-two, who was just turning away from one of the public prayer-wheels when we came up with him. Here also we noticed a fresh fashion in dress. These Lamas were of the T’ou Mei Banner, and instead of the usual long robe, most wore a species of petticoat, brown in colour, and very clumsy in appearance, suspended from the waist, no trousers, and waistcoats without sleeves. Over the left shoulder is loosely thrown a brown scarf, like a Roman toga or a Highland sash, and that completes their attire. Their bare arms are consequently burnt the colour of copper, but it must be a most unsuitable and insufficient dress for the intense cold of the winter. All I could learn, however, was that, save for the daily devotional exercises of the temple, the priests hibernate in the winter, rushing from their rooms to the temples to “nien ching” (read prayers), and then back to their rooms to spend the rest of the day on their heated “k’ang.” 324 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA A fairly stiff breeze met us as we left the inn at Fu Hsing Ti at five o’clock on the last day of May. So strong was it that we could not use the plane-table, and after taking the first sight we had to wrap up the paper and pack the table and tripod on the mules, The route, however, varied less than ever, so that the prismatic readings taken properly represent our day’s march :— At Fu Hsing Ti we. 224°. At Huang Chia Tien... 230° (10 miles distant). At Ch’i Ch’i Li Tai... 224° (20 miles distant). The road was also very easy, the latter part of the day especially so, where we had an absolutely level and hard road for 15 miles. In the earlier portion we crossed over what are scarcely to be called passes, but rather elevated ground up to respectively 1,020, 1,150, and 1,250 feet. The land was of the open-rolling order, and entirely under cultivation, though most of the villages we passed through were inhabited by Mongols. All these speak Chinese, just as in the regions nearer our own homes, and are practically an entirely different race from those we met further north. To us also they seemed freer and more genial; even their women-folk would come quite near us, without showing either fear or false modesty, and that though they said foreigners are rarely seen on that road. At Ch’i Chi Li Tai there is another large and commodious temple, built on the side of a hill, and tenanted by over a hundred Lamas. In front of it is a massive stone image, with blue face, and body painted most grotesquely one side, blue; the other side, red. What the special purport of that was no one seemed able to tell us. We were here again in the T’ou Mei Ch’i, though Fu Hsing Ti had been in the Meng Kou CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS 325 Chen Ch’i. Fifteen li north of Kuan Ying Tzu, where we stayed the night, was the Nai Man Ch’i, and all these various clans of Mongols are subject to their own prince, whoever he may be. At Kuan Ying Tzu we heard of a party of four Japanese who had stayed in the same inn one night some four weeks before our visit. They could not speak Chinese, but explained to the innkeeper in writing that they were bound for Peking on “kung ssu” (official business). They had no animals of any kind with them, were themselves walking every step of the way, and all they had in the way of baggage was carried on a pole by a Mongol they had hired on the way. The oldest of them was a man of thirty-six, and they stated that he was a “t'ung-ling” (colonel). It sounds strange that a Japanese colonel who could not speak Chinese should be going over the country like a common tramp. Had they been familiar with Chinese, we might have under- stood they were out on Intelligence work, counting nothing a hardship that they might gain useful informa- tion. But their ignorance of Chinese would seem to suggest that they were a parcel of fellows “on the mooch,” and passing themselves off as officers so that they might more easily secure supplies and accommoda- tion as they went along the road. They were said to have spent two days at the Pei-tzu-fu we afterwards visited, but even there we could learn nothing more definite about them. From Kuan Ying Tzu to Hei Ch’eng Tzu is said to be 25 li, but we made it out to be at least go. The road for the most part was level enough, but much of it was sandy and gravelly, and consequently bad for marching. One or two small elevations in the land were not worthy the name of passes. We crossed a few wide water- courses, while near to Hei Ch’eng Tzu there is a by no 326 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA means insignificant quantity of water flowing in three streams southward. We could get no other name for this stream than Hei Ch’eng Tzu Ho, and indeed all the streams we had passed for some days had simply local names. Some 4 miles from Hei Ch’eng Tzu we came to an immense compound, with a magnificent mud wall fully 20 feet high, battlements at each corner, as well as in the centre of each wall. This proved to be the Hsin Erh Sai, a large distillery, surrounded just within its walls with grand old willows and poplars. But the buildings were very mean and insignificant, mere flat-roofed mud huts of the ordinary kind, though probably good enough for the proprietors to make their wine and money in. Hei Ch’eng Tzu, which we reached at ten o’clock that morning, is a small-sized village boasting a couple of inns, in one of which we got accommodation. The village derives its name from the dilapidated mud wall which surrounds the “ Pei-tzu-fu,” standing 2 li from the inn where we stopped. It is a place of no importance whatever, and it was very disappointing to find it was not the “ Pei-tzu-fu’” where I had hoped to meet James Gilmour’s assistant Liu. One feels also that not only does the traveller require to be clear in his distinctions as to these various “ Pei-tzu-fu” in this district, but the English equivalent of the character “fu” as applied to these residences of Mongol princes, dukes, and earls requires some revising. ‘ Fu” means palace, and yet it is a great misnomer to dub the places I saw “ palaces,” except as it is always understood that in the courteous East you always use the highest-sounding honorific phrases. Anything less likely than the Western idea of a palace it would be difficult to imagine. Here there was a set. of tumble-down houses to which no attention seemed to have been given for years, and indeed we CHAO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS 327 were informed that a suite of rooms had had to be specially prepared for the home-coming of the earl, who had arrived from ‘Peking two days before our visit. He had been an absentee landlord, and preferred his palace in Peking, where he had spent nine years in the Imperial household. His post was said to be what would be equivalent to an advance courier to the Emperor's cortége, making preparations for the Imperial comfort on the rare journeys made by his late Majesty. During the absence of this young Earl of T’ou Mei (the people called him Wang Yeh, or Prince), his place had been neglected, and as we saw it was not worth wasting a film over. His wife and family had returned with him two days before, and though he was only twenty-nine years of age, he had a son and heir twelve years old. I had hoped to spend a day there in seeing the sights, but as there were none to be seen, and I did not care to bother the newly-returned grandee with a call, we had our meal and turned away, steering due south for a place called P’ing An Ti (Peace Land). We asked for no escort, and gave no official notice of our visit. That omission may have made them suspicious of our purpose, for as we left the place we were shadowed by a couple of young Mongol soldiers mounted, who, though never once coming near us, nor speaking to us, yet kept us in sight for most of the ro miles to P’ing An Ti, and only turned off when they were satisfied we were peaceful travellers. But it made us realise once again that however apparently indifferent the responsible authorities may be to you as you pass along, they are very curious to know what has taken you to such out-of-the- way places, and how you behave yourself as you go along. P’ing An Ti outwardly was a lovely place. We were housed in a small inn in a large compound full of splendid poplars. The village was a wee quiet place, 328 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA and in the early evening as I sat in the compound listen- ing to the musical rustling of the silver leaves, and the sweet songs of the birds, and cooing of the pigeons, the whole thing would have been poetic and ideal if I could have forgotten the filthy room I was later on to occupy. The inn was in charge of a woman, who said her husband had gone to a theatre 3 miles away, and she did not know whether he would be back or not that night. As usual, they were Shantung people with their distinct dialect, settled there for many generations. The little woman proved herself a capable and active manageress, a great contrast to the hulking idler who next morning introduced himself to me as her husband. Soon after four I was up, having slept splendidly in one of the filthiest rooms I have ever occupied. Our worthy landlord had returned the previous night after I had gone to bed, and ambled up to me as soon as I appeared. I could not refrain from giving him my opinion of his energy, but he was absolutely unmoved by my exordium, any more than he was disturbed later when we wanted the mules loaded up, and I reproved him for lounging round instead of helping to lift the loads. His reply was characteristic of the man, “ Tai choa, pu lei ti huang ” (If I am idle, I won’t get tired). We left at 5.20 a.m., climbed a small “liang,” and then for some distance followed a path that carried us through a good stretch of waste land. The hills were also closing in upon us from the east, and still further east was a long and high range that was in sight almost all the day long. By ten o’clock we had reached the large village of Meng Kou Ying Tzu, where, in spite of its name (Mongol Camp), the three hundred families are almost entirely Chinese. Here the land was better than that we had crossed in the morning. The inn we stayed in was a very poor and dirty place, and while CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS 329 there we got particulars of a robbery by brigands of which we had heard rumours just before leaving P’ing An Ti. The previous day a party of men with nineteen donkeys had been travelling towards Ch’ao Yang Fu from the north. Accompanying them was an old man who had been north selling shoes, and was then return- ing with dollars and notes to the value of four hundred. dollars (forty pounds). Just after passing Lou Chia Kou, a village we had passed that morning, a company of mounted bandits, also said to be nineteen in number, suddenly met them. The old watercourse where the encounter took place is less than a mile from Lou Chia Kou, where there is a posse of cavalry for postal purpose. But that fact inspired no terror in the hearts of these brigands, who proceeded to relieve the old boot-seller of his two parcels of dollars, all his cash notes, and best clothing, and declining to interfere in any way with the donkeymen, continued their journey eastward. The robbed man with his party went forward to Meng Kou Ying Tzu, stopped in the same inn we were at, and reported his loss to the officer in charge of the forty cavalry stationed in the village. The answer I got to my question as to whether the soldiers had pursued the brigands or not was the laconic response, “Chui t’'a-men pu jung yi” (To pursue them is not easy). And that is the best the gallant defenders of the populace can do to help a respectable old fellow relieved of his possessions in open daylight. A sorry comment on the administration! This was the fourth occasion during our trip that we had run up close to the brigands, yet had not been in any way molested, nor lost a single cash to them. That night we stayed in a capital inn at San Yi Chan, where we had two private rooms to ourselves. It was becoming hotter each day as we went forward, and rain was much needed 330 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA all over the land, but though clouds banked up every day the much-needed moisture did not fall. Next morning as we started off at 5.30; the ther- mometer registered 65 degrees F. There was also a strong breeze blowing from the north-east, making the plane-table useless for sketching, and compelling us to be dependent on prismatic readings for the direction of our march. The hills, which had been gradually closing in upon us for the last few days, now came right up to us as we tramped along, thus narrowing the valleys, and making the cultivated land much smaller, besides bringing us over a lot of broken ground of the loess order. It was imperative always to keep to the big road, however it might turn, lest by continuing forward we came to an impassable gully in the land. All land within vision was under the plough, and no part given up to pasturage for sheep or cattle. Indeed, of the latter we saw next to nothing. Save for a few sheep from each village, all the animals were kept hard at work in the fields, in land greatly similar to ours at Yung P’ing Fu. We passed within short distance of three small coal-mines during the day, all worked, of course, by native methods under native supervision. There is plenty of coal in the district, but it all seemed to be of very poor quality, and could not be considered cheap. At the pit’s mouth 100 catties (1334 lbs.) cost from 2,200 to 3,000 cash ($1 to $1.50), or at the rate of about $16 (30s.) per ton. Yet all the people burn coal in their homes, as being cheaper than the ordinary fuel of the fields. In the city of Ch’ao Yang there is a Government office for the regulation of the trade, though regulation, as at Hata, consisted in the collection of dues arbitrarily and recently imposed, much to the disgust of the people who work the mines, and greatly to the satisfaction of the Chinese officials and their satellites. CH’AO YANG FU AND ITS OLD PAGODAS 331 That day we stopped for breakfast at Hsing Lung Kou, where Marisami displayed his smartness in another line by posing as an amateur watchmaker. One of my watches, for the first time in five years, had stopped that morning, being simply choked up with the fine dust that had percolated through the case. Marisami pleaded that 1 might allow him to put it right, but his efforts were only partly and temporarily successful. That night we slept at Pai Yao, on the west bank of a small river called the Pa Ko T’u Ho, which, when it has water in it, flows south-west to join the Ta Ling Ho. At the time of our visit it was quite dry, due to the long- continued drought. Here, however, we noticed the wheat to be from 3 to 4 inches out of the ground, much better than anything we had so far seen. The opium crop was also showing strongly. We were now within 8 miles of Ch’ao Yang Fu, and buoyed our- selves up with the hope of a comfortable inn and a good rest, while I expected for the first time to meet some foreign missionary friends, and receive the first letters I had had for seven weeks. The road to Ch’ao Yang on Monday we found to be 5 li short of the native estimate, and our map was made accordingly. The way is fairly easy, though over a small “liang” for about one-half of the distance. After that it became first stony, then sandy, and then dusty, until nearing the city every step taken raises the fine dust, and gradually covers both face and clothing. Mounting the little pass that leads from the inn at Pai Yao I took a prismatic bearing at 216 degrees, but on going a very little further we could distinctly see the two large pagodas in the city, and I took another and final bearing to one of those at 234 degrees, We were accompanied from the inn by a young Lama from Dolonor (Lama Miao), who told us he was at home 332 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA on leave from his temple for six months. He was a far- travelled Mongol this, having, some five years before, in company with five other Lamas, been sent to Shanghai with 110 Mongol ponies for sale. The abbot of his temple had been persuaded to this trade venture by some foreigners (one lady and four gentle- men) who had stayed some weeks at their temple, and who accompanied them to Shanghai. There the ponies were sold at an average price of taels 60 (£8), but their expenses were so heavy that they actually lost money over the business, and were not likely to repeat it. He told me that Lama Miao was still the cheapest pony-market within easy reach of Peking, taels 20 being enough to buy a good horse, and the war in Manchuria having made but little difference to their prices. He was on a different errand during this vacation, and when we met him was going to the city gaol to see his brother, who had been arrested on a charge of murdering a traveller a year before. That is the sort of experience which lifts the monotony of a tour like mine. You never know what interesting specimen of humanity you are going to run up alongside of next in these outlying districts of the Celestial Empire. Hoping to find a missionary friend at Ch’ao Yang, I sent Shu Feng on ahead with a note, but he met us at the gate of the city with the information that the missionary was away in Newchuang attending the annual meeting of his Presbytery. The pleasure of foreign company was therefore denied me, and finding quarters in a small but quiet inn, we indulged ourselves in a good square meal from the nearest restaurant before making any attempt to see the famous city of the three pagodas. PAGODA AND CART-AXLE TIMBERS AT CH’AO YANG FU. CHAPTER XxXI BACK TO CIVILISATION CuH’AO YANG Fu (The Prefecture that faces the Sun) rejoices in a second and local, therefore a more popular, name—San Tso T’a, or The Three Pagodas. At the present day there are but two of these pagodas standing, one having fallen long ago, and its site being now occupied by a fine temple erected to the God of War. The two remaining pagodas, dating, as all such monu- ments do, from the time of the T’ang dynasty, rear themselves proudly above the entire city, and can be easily seen miles before the city is reached. I managed to secure three separate “snaps” of them at different positions and distances, so giving some faint idea of their height and proportions. They are both somewhere about 400 feet high, broad and square at the base, and, unlike the famous pagoda at the T’ai Ming Ch’eng, are not octagonal, but square in shape. The ravages of time are telling seriously upon them, the outer bricks gradually crumbling away, and since that is a process that is unnoticed, or at least unchecked by repairs, some stormy day there will be another, perhaps two falls, and woe betide the poor people whose hovels are clustered round their feet. The city itself is a large and busy place, with a lot of fine shops in the main street. The people say it is neither so large nor so busy as Hata, but it looks much 333 334 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA busier, doubtless from the fact that its streets are much narrower and people and business more compressed. As at K’u Lu Kou, so here you may find several different business houses in one compound, and one does not by any means see all that is being done in the way of trade by a cursory walk through the streets. We visited two large inns seeking accommodation before we finally got rooms for ourselves, and in each case there were several sets of rooms in their compounds, rented out to different business firms. Like all other cities I have visited outside the Great Wall, this city had nothing in the way of a wall similar to those round cities in China proper. A small rampart had been hastily flung up in 1900, when the Boxer madness was at its height, but it is a mean and insignificant mud erection, that could be easily overcome by a few score of determined men, and not at all worthy to be classed with the strong and massive walls of Chihli cities. Here we found two sets of soldiers—one set under the orders of General Ma Yii K’tin, the other set, a contingent of the old-fashioned Lien Chun, directly subject to the Viceroy in Tientsin. The commanding officer of this latter lot was one General Yang, resident in the city, to whom I sent my card, and from whom I declined the offer of an escort with which he wished to burden us when we left for Chin Chou Fu. It was disappointing to reach the city and find the only British resident absent. It was much more dis- appointing to be told by the assistant pastor of the Mission Church that there was not a single letter for me there. For almost seven weeks I had been in the wilds, without outer communication of any kind, and had looked forward to Ch’ao Yang Fu principally for the letters it was to bring me. Finishing my Chinese meal of pork and vegetables, I accompanied the preacher, Mr. PAGODA AT CH’AO YANG FU (TAKEN WITHIN THE CITY). To face p. 334 BACK TO CIVILISATION 335 Liu Yi, in a visit to the post-office in the town. No, there were no letters for me, nor had they seen any. From me they had had letters which had duly been sent off to their destinations, but nothing whatever had reached them addressed to me. I was turning away to seek the telegraph office, when the man in charge of the post- office said to Mr. Liu, “ Have you seen those letters that came yesterday?” “No,” was his reply. ‘Then please look at them, and tell me who they are for?” With that he opened a small case fixed against the wall and produced four letters. Eureka! They were mine, every one of them, and too well pleased to chide the man for not being able to read the English addresses, we hied our way to the chapel, and I had a good quiet half-hour to myself while I devoured my letters. Our visit to the telegraph office was therefore delayed, but the messages then sent were more different in tone and phrasing than they would have been if that little case in the wall at the post-office had not been opened in my presence. From the telegraph office we went to visit the magnifi- cent Lama temple that graces the city. Over two hundred Lamas are in residence there, and the main hall, together with some of the minor temples standing in the various compounds, make the place well worthy a visit of inspection. Lama temples are much better cared for than the average Buddhist and Taoist temple in China. The latter generally stand open to all the winds that blow ; quarrelsome sparrows and graceful swallows are allowed to build their nests in and about them, while the dust of ages accumulates on shrines and idols alike. At times also they are turned into temporary shelters for tramping beggars or empty coffins, and invariably present a picture of faded grandeur, parabolic of the faiths they represent. But the Lama is much more careful of his temple. The doors are always securely locked against 336 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA intruders. None may enter without permission, and the building is not allowed to be regarded as a receptacle for the rubbish of the neighbourhood. Even the dust is kept down, and the images and shrines of the Buddha kept bright and clean. Hence at Ch’ao Yang, on the day of my visit, I found the central hall locked, and as to seek permission to enter would have taken up time we could ill spare, I contented myself with a few pictures, and went off to see other sights. I visited the humble quarters of the resident missionary, a little suite of four rooms on a side street, and then went on a pilgrimage to the old mission compound just outside the city, pathetic in its bareness and ruin as a result of the Boxer rising in 1900. Protestant Christi- anity in Ch’ao Yang owes its inception to the heroic pioneer who has been so many times mentioned in these pages, James Gilmour, and shares with T’a Tzu Kou the honour of being his settled place of residence. He first visited the city in the winter of 1885-86, travelling from T’a Ch’eng Tzu, when the roads were unsafe and a severe famine was raging in the district. From that time, until his death in 1891, Ch’ao Yang was one of his most important centres, and there he succeeded in founding a little Church of earnest Christians, some of whom, in- cluding my escort on thé day of my visit, still remain to testify to the value of his work. The Rev. J. Parker and then the Rev. J. D. Liddell succeeded in turn to the work at Ch’ao Yang, and when the storm broke in 1900 the latter, with Dr. Cochrane, now Dean of the Union Medical College in Peking, were forced to seek safety in flight. Their homes were looted and then burnt to the ground, and the little band of Christians scattered. After rgoo the London Missionary Society turned the work at Ch’ao Yang and T’a Tzu Kou over to the Irish Presby- terian Church, by whom it is still carried on. BACK TO CIVILISATION 337 The present chapel on the principal street of the city is a new building in semi-foreign style, though decorated somewhat similarly to the Lama temples in the district, in blue and gold. One part of the frontage is rented out to a grain merchant. The other part constitutes the front chapel, used for market preaching, which is carried on the year round every other evening. Behind is a boys’ school, with a dozen or more Christian boys in attend- ance; then the room for Sunday services, a long and severely plain building, the women having to sit in a small room behind the pulpit, from where they can see only the preacher’s back—never a very inspiring sight. In yet another courtyard is the girls’ school, and behind that again the residence of the Chinese pastor, with a private compound and a separate entrance. Altogether it is a very fine property, admirably adapted to the purposes for which it is employed. Mr. Liu Yi, my escort of the morning, was a smart little man, baptized by Gilmour in 1888, trained as an evangelist at Tientsin, speaking and reading Mongolian and also a little English, while, having had some medical training under Dr. Cochrane, he was quite equal to the task of treating simple cases of sickness at the chapel. The Roman Catholics have also a small interest in the city ; but as they have only settled there since 1900, their hold on the city is as yet very slight. They are strong, however, in the surrounding districts, having a foreign bishop and several foreign priests in different towns and villages. Ch’ao Yang is surrounded by hills, those especially to the south of the city being highest. East of the city on one of the highest peaks stands a small pagoda, and circling it the remains of a wall which it is said once enclosed the headquarters of a noted rebel company. The tale, as told to me, is as follows :— 23 338 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA In the ninth year of the Emperor Hsien Feng (1860) a man named Ts’ai Pao Shan, a native of Ts’ai Chuang, in the Ch’ang Li Hsien, some 25 miles from Yung P’ing Fu, was falsely accused of taking part in a robbery near his own home. He was a scholarly man, having won the first literary degree of “hsiu ts’ai” (flourishing talents, or B. A.), but the poor chap was afflicted with a withered arm, which hung helplessly by his side. He was arrested by the official and thrown into prison, first at Ch’ang Li and then at Yung P’ing Fu. In 1861, aided by some of the men who had got him into trouble, and who evidently regretted their treatment of him, he managed to break prison, and with his cronies fled beyond the Great Wall to Ch’ao Yang. There he attached himself to a noted robber chief named Li Feng Ku’ei, who, declaring himself a king, and building himself a stronghold on these hills, made the scholar Ts’ai Pao Shan his chief minister, and raised the standard of rebellion against Hsien Feng. They slew the Ch’ao Yang official, gathered a considerable force of disaffected men, and when, in consequence of the British and French march on Peking, the Emperor Hsien Feng fled to Jehol, they led their army of several thousand men (Chinese figures never err on the side of modesty), towards that city, intending to slay the unhappy monarch and usurp the kingdom for Li Feng Ku’ei. Their march was checked by a combination between the troops of the Haraschin Mongol Prince, and the Tartar-General of Mukden, who, defeating the rebel forces, captured and at once decapitated Li Feng Ku’ei. Ts’ai Pao Shan retired to his native home, and settled down once more to the quiet life of a country scholar. But when T’ung Chih had ascended the throne in Peking, his ambitions stirred within him to proceed to the capital and purchase rank for himself There he was recognised as an old rebel leader, and paid the penalty for his misdeeds by execution BACK TO CIVILISATION 339 in the capital. Hisson and grandson are still alive, resi- dent in their native village of Ts’ai Chuang, the latter said to be himself also a B.A. Butof the former glory of Li Feng Kue’i and Ts’ai Pao Shan nothing now remains but the crumbling remains of a ruined wall. Sic transit gloria mundi, There being nothing to detain us longer at Ch’ao Yang, we determined to continue our journey after the one day’s rest. By 4.50 a.m., therefore, we were once more on the road, this time for the very last section of our tramp, accompanied by two soldiers whom the prefect of the city thrust upon us as an escort. The hills so surround Ch’ao Yang that to reach Chin Chou, which lies to the south-east, there is only one way out of the city, and that is by the north gate, through which we had entered the previous day. We passed through a village named Shih Chia Tzu, from there turning to the south and reaching at 6 miles the ford of the Ta Ling Ho. Here we had to send the loads and men across on a clumsy ferry, while the animals had to take the ford. This delayed us for twenty-five minutes, as the mules had to be unloaded and then loaded up again. The river-bed is fairly broad here, and in normal times the water runs deep and strong. But when we crossed the actual stream was both narrower and shallower than usual, in conse- quence of the long-continued drought. There were not more than 3 feet of water in the deepest parts, while at the ford the river was some 30 feet broad. The road was rough and broken across the river, and the soil so fine and powdery that a wind-storm would make the place something like the sand-deserts. But since the road lies close alongside the river for 7 miles, till we reach Mang Niu Ying Tzu, it is not at all an unpleas- ant road to travel, At Mang Niu Ying Tzu the river turns off almost at right angles to the north-east, flows 340 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA past Yi Chou, and then 20 li north of Chin Chou, whence it finds its way to the sea. The route from Ch’ao Yang to Chin Chou having been frequently surveyed, and the distances to be made each day being greater than we had been accustomed to make, we were content merely to take constant bearings with the prismatic compass, of which Marisami took charge as he tramped along. The day proved excessively hot, quite the hottest of all our itinerary ; at 11 o’clock the thermometer stood at 109 degrees, and both men and animals found it exceedingly trying. We breakfasted at Mang Niu Ying Tzu, and were on the road again at 11.50. By this time a wind had got up, and it proved to be a hot wind, sweeping down upon us in gusts like blasts from a furnace. That afternoon I had quite a unique experience. We were riding slowly along, I close in behind the mules, one of our mounted escort behind me, and Weng behind him on the little donkey. Quite suddenly, and without any of us having observed it coming, a fierce whirlwind was upon us. It caught only we three, missing entirely the mules, though they were just in front of me. The wind was terrific in its force, while the dust and small stones in our faces were positively painful. I managed to keep my seat, though Hansl reared up affrighted; the soldier’s horse was carried right off the track, and he only controlled it with great difficulty. Not one of us could gasp out a single word. It was only for a second or two, and then it went careering wildly towards the east, but it gave me one of the queerest sensations I had ever known in my life. Toiling on in the intense heat, and stopping twice to drink cold water out of village wells (a most risky pro- ceeding), we at length reached the village of Pa T’ieh Ying Tzu, a small market village with a strong wall and BACK TO CIVILISATION 341 battlements round it. The inn was not a very grand affair, but “any port in a storm,” and we were thankful to find a shelter from that terrible hot wind. We reached the inn by 3.40. By four o’clock the wind had greatly increased in fury, blowing a perfect hurricane, with clouds of dust darkening everything around, but it was still not quite so bad as that dust-storm at Po Li Huo Shao. That still stands out, and is likely to stand, as the most remarkable wind in my experience. None of us were fit for any work at this inn, and that night neither map nor notes were written up. But after resting a couple of hours I got an extra supply of hot water, and had some sort of a bath to refresh myself. In this inn there was a company of soldiers of the Lien Chitin on their way to meet an officer coming from Chin Chou Fu with the monthly wages of the troops. We had seen the same men earlier in the day. Hardy, lusty fellows they were; for after they had had a wash and their evening meal, and when the wind had moderated in spite of their heated tramp they sat outside joking and larking one with another like a parcel of schoolboys. As soon as darkness fell they got inside on the brick beds, without covering of any kind, lay down and slept till 1 am. When their bugles sounded they sprang from their “ k’ang,” picked up their rifles, and started off forthwith for another day’s march. Nothing like travelling light, after all ! We were all up next morning at 3.45, and away from the inn by 5.10. Just a li or so beyond the village we had to ford a small stream, one of the headwaters of the Hsiao Ling Ho which we were later on to cross. We proved still more this day that its best friend would not accuse the road from Ch’ao Yang to Chin Chou of being a good road. Where it is not shingly, it is sandy ; where it is not sandy, it is rough and broken; where 342 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA it is not broken, you have stony passes to climb, which though not specially high, yet mean stiff exertion on a hot day. We had not been going long before we met quite a cavalcade of mounted soldiers escorting a Chinese official named Kao, of Tientsin, to the Govern- ment gold-mines at Chin Ch’ang Kou Liang. The old gentleman was mounted on a good pony himself, and they were walking along at a very good pace. He had altogether about twenty men with him, the escort being from Chien P’ing Hsien, and his baggage was following behind in a couple of carts. Presumably he was the inspector of these gold-mines beyond the wall. We had a good look at each-other as we passed; but as he was mounted and I at the moment happened to be walking, it would have been infra dig. for me to have offered him any salutation, so we were not even “ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing.” At nine o’clock that morning we came upon a small hamlet which bears the simple and descriptive name of Shui Chi Tzu (Customs Office). There was nothing specially important about the little place, save that it marked the boundary between the two provinces of Chihli and Fengtien. Here, then, really for the first time in our long tramp of 800 miles (apart from the excursion beyond the Shira-muren), we passed out of the Chihli territory, and were traversing the country of Manchuria. Creeping down the hill to this customs office was a long, low line of stones, not a foot high out of the ground. That was the Ancient Palisade, with a history of centuries behind it, still, as in the olden times, the dividing-line between China and Manchuria. The Chinese name for it is “ Pien Ch’iang ” (Boundary Wall), and according as you stand east or west of it, you are spoken of as being “pien li” (within the boundary) or “pien wai” (without the boundary), respectively. That BACK TO CIVILISATION 343 would seem to indicate a Manchurian rather than a Chinese origin for the Palisade, since it is exactly con- trary to the manner in which the Great Wall is con- stantly spoken of. North of the Great Wall is always “k’ou-wai” or “kuan-wai” ; while south of it, everybody is “k’ou-li” or “kuan-li.”. Whether the Great Wall, called, as already stated, by the Chinese “ Wan li ch’ang ch’eng (Ten-thousand mile long city), and the “Pien Ch’iang” had a common origin in point of time, I know not. But it must always be remembered that the two erections are quite distinct and separate, and should never be confounded together, while if the present condition of the two structures is any indication of age, the Palisade is very much more ancient than the Great Wall. Anti- quarian research has expended itself in China upon the Great Wall, to the neglect of the Ancient Palisade, with the result that but little is known of the latter, and the two are often confused together and treated as one and the same thing. At 9.25 we reached the market village of Shen Chia Tzu, to find ourselves in the midst of a crowded market. We had sent on ahead one of the soldiers to seek out an inn where we could have breakfast, but before we could find him we had got beyond the only two inns in the place. It was quite impossible to get our mules turned round and pushed through the perspiring crowd of humanity that thronged the street, and having stopped right opposite a house with a good compound, we seized occasion by the hand and, flinging ourselves on the hospitality of the householder, managed to secure a couple of comfortable rooms where we could have our meals in peace, much quieter than in either an inn or a place of business. The people were Manchus, as are most of the residents there, and the eldest son, a lad about twenty, was a student in the school at Chin 344 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA Chou, where he was studying English. He was intro- duced to me as an English speaker, but the only vocabulary he was facile with was “Good morning” and “No”; the first phrase used when we met, the second to every other question I addressed to him in English. Later, I paid for our accommodation by hear- ing him read from his lesson-book, correcting some of his mistakes, and giving him a few hints for future study. Near the Shui Chii Tzu two villagers on donkeys overtook us, and informed our escort that the pre- vious day seventeen or eighteen mounted brigands had been investing the pass called Pa Chia Liang, and that no one had dared to cross for fear of being molested. Once again, therefore, we had just managed to miss them. We slept that night in a Manchu inn at T’ien Chia T’in, within 13 miles of Chin Chou, and as the next was to be our last morning on the road, Shu Feng was determined to get us off in good time, and called me up at 3.15. Marisami told me later that Shu Feng had been up at midnight and again at I a.m., eagerly looking at his watch to see if it were not time to start. Like the horses going homeward, he seemed to have got the smell of the stable into his nostrils, and was on the hustle that morning. We were therefore on the road at 4.30, quite the earliest start we had made, and found the road somewhat better than that nearer Ch’ao Yang. We had just got out of the inn when the soldiers informed me that the previous afternoon 20 li from where we had slept, and at a place we had yet to cross, one mounted brigand armed with a revolver had stopped a traveller with seven mules, and taken all his animals from him. This within seven miles of Chin Chou Fu, where a brigade of modern cavalry was stationed. BACK TO CIVILISATION 345 Twelve li (4 miles) from that city we forded the Hsiao Ling Ho, having just before got our first sight of its lofty pagoda. The stormy winds of the previous days had in some way damaged the pagoda sufficient to alarm the official, and we found them engaged in doing some patching up to the old monument. Just after fording the river I had the first and only serious accident of the trip. Riding at walking pace through a small village, my pony Hansl put his foot on a loose stone, stumbled, and threw me, and fell so heavily on my left leg that for a week or more I could only move it with pain. Fortunately no bones were broken, but it seemed ironic that one should tramp safely over 800 miles of the roughest country that can be imagined, and have to limp painfully along the last 4 miles of the trip. Chin Chou Fu was far and away the best and busiest city of all we had visited on our trip. True, the main street is narrow, dark, and crowded, but the shops were good and numerous, while the signs of prosperity were visible on every hand, not only in the shops, but in the residential quarters, particularly in the east suburb. There, near to where the Irish Presbyterian Mission has its: headquarters, all the Chinese houses and compounds are of one style, their portals partly built of dressed stone, and the stone in all cases painted green. It is uniform enough to be monotonous, but it is a sure evidence of plenty, and spells substance. The city is also well supplied with Peking passenger carts, which have their stands like cab-stands at home, and can be hired at cheap rates at any hour of the day. They are all good, clean vehicles, in which any one might sit, while the mules are big, strong animals, quite equal to any weight that may be placed upon them. Knowing that the missionaries of Chin Chou Fu would 346 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA be absent from the city, on the same errand as the Ch’ao Yang man, we decided to seek quarters in an inn near the railway station. Arrived there, we found we had time to catch the mail train to Shan Hai Kuan, so we changed our plans forthwith, and resolved on going straight ahead. But there was one difficulty in the way. I had not a single dollar in my possession, nor a cheque that I could cash at the office. All had been spent en route,and we were not only tramps, but penniless tramps, when we reached Chin Chou. I had some silver in bulk unchanged, but that is not accepted over the ticket- counters of the Imperial railways of North China. But much can be done in China that would be quite impossible in England or America, and seeking out the station-master I explained to him my position, showed him my Chinese passport, and promising to refund as soon as | got to Shan Hai Kuan, where I could borrow money from a friend, I got the necessary tickets for myself, the men, and my animals, and that afternoon we rattled along the delightful sea-run that separates Chin Chou from Shan Hai Kuan. This route in one respect resembles the run from Newcastle to Edinburgh, inasmuch as it courses along by the sea. To us, who have been so long on the tramp in the wilds, the sea seemed to breathe new life, and spoke of home and civilisation. Our long, weary tramp was over. We had been where no such party had ever been before. We had sampled the loneliness and hunger of the desert. We had partaken of the poor and humble fare of the Mongols. We had toiled and strained in the heat and the winds. But all our difficulties were now forgotten as the iron horse carried us swiftly and comfortably along the last stage of our long journey. I was a very unlikely subject for a first-class dining-car that day. Face and hands were burnt almost to copper- BACK TO CIVILISATION 347 colour. The riding-suit I wore was travel-stained and shabby. To make me feel my outlandishness more, I was set to table with a delicate, effeminate-looking young Chinese gentleman, whose thin hands and pale face contrasted greatly with my grimy appearance. But that did not distress me at all, however it might have affected him. No one on that car enjoyed that civilised tiffin more than I did, for I had the inward feeling that if my work during the past two months had not earned such a good meal, then at least my privations had, and so I gave good conduct a real good treat. And I was grateful as well as hungry, so what could I wish for more? CHAPTER XXII CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS AND GENERAL PROSPECTS To those readers who have done me the honour of following the foregoing record a brief chapter to focus my general impressions of the people and country will now be necessary, while any who are interested in the civilisation and development of such a land as Mongolia ‘may be wishful to know what the prospects are for commercial advance or evangelistic enterprise. It has been made abundantly evident that the government of the territory is far from perfect. The district is of immense area; cities and large towns are conspicuous by their rarity, while the parlous condition of the people, particularly in face of the constant depredations of the brigands, is a standing rebuke to a paternal government such as China boasts. In the regions traversed by myself there are seven governing cities, viz. Ch’eng Te Fu, Ping Ch’uan Chou, Chien Chang Hsien, Ch’th Feng Hsien, Ch’ao Yang Fu, Chien P’ing Hsien, and Fu Hsing Hsien, not to speak of Chin Chou Fu, best and greatest of them all, though that belongs to the Manchurian Government. In these several cities and their subject towns there are civil and military officials ranging from the Tartar-General at Ch’eng Te Fu to the petty sergeants keeping the peace with a couple of men, like 348 CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 349 my sanguine friend at Chien Ch’ang Ying (Chapter X.). Besides these, during my visits there was a division of soldiers under General Ma Yi K’iin, nominally pro- tecting the people from the brigands, and holding the territory against the possible—though not probable —encroachments of Japanese or Russian troops. Of officials there were plenty in all truth: that the people resident in the territory had in the last issue to pay the cost of their maintenance goes without saying. Yet one failed to see the benefit accruing to the poor folks beyond the somewhat shadowy benefit issuing from the civil yamens where lawsuits are settled and the litigants bled. In large tracts of the country there is absolutely no official cognisance of either place or people. In places remote from the centre of authority men might, and indeed do, suffer again and again from the ubiquitous marauders who respect neither plentiful stocks nor maidenly virtue. The sufferers may clamour for justice, but in vain. The officials turn a deaf ear to their plaints. The only right that prevails is the right of might, and save where the people, in the courage of despair, organise their little bands of local militia, there is no help for them, no redress for their losses, either in heaven or on earth. Practically the only authority exercised in these more distant places is that wielded by the Tama Laoyehs like our host of the Sounding Waters. And yet, in case of real need, how helpless they are, and how impotent in the presence of these rascally bandits, has appeared more than once in these pages. As to the soldiers stationed in certain places, it was disappointing, but not surprising, to find that they were regarded with but a little less fear, and a little more contempt, than the brigands they were supposed to be there to check. I have no complaint to make 350 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA as to the general control of the troops beyond the Great Wall. Their drill was modern, and, to that extent, satisfactory; their equipment, so far as an outsider could judge, appeared as good as anything China possesses at the present time; General Ma him- self, now gone beyond either praise or blame, held the men under his immediate supervision as with a hand of iron, and checked and punished severely any conduct likely to bring discredit on his command. But that was only in the town and close neighbour- hood of Pakou, where he himself was residing at the time. Away from the fear of his frown, even so near as Ta Ch’eng Tzu and Fu Hsing Ti, we found the men idle and insoient, vaunting their poor accomplish- ments in the eye of the passing stranger, and, worst of all, indulging in petty persecution and oppression of the inhabitants that was very galling even to so patient a people. More than once I was told by respectable business men and farmers that they had two sets of men to fear: first, the gentlemen of the road who always swooped down upon them unex- pectedly; and, secondly, their supposed protectors, who, like the poor, were always with them, and wanted to share in the best of everything that was going. It has even been suggested that on occasion the soldiers have been in collusion with the brigands, and made some of their big raids possible. During my last and longest trip Prince Su, one of the wisest and most upright of the Imperial Counsellors, was making a tour of Eastern Mongolia, considerably more extended, and in much more leisurely fashion than was possible to me. Leaving Peking by way of Kalgan, he had slowly made his way round to Haraschin, interview- ing and discussing affairs with all the various princes and officials of the several Mongol tribes he touched. He CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 351 was due at Hata when we left that city, and from there was to proceed north-east to Barin, and thence to Mukden, where his tour was to conclude in a conference with the Viceroy of the three Manchurian provinces. Great hopes—not untempered with doubts—were in- dulged by the friends of the Mongols asa result of that tour. But, like so many commissions sent out by the Peking Court, no tangible benefit has yet accrued to the people. That may not be the fault of Prince Su. In the first place, it is exceedingly doubtful whether he, earnest though he is for reform and improvement, would learn the actual state of affairs in the regions he traversed. It would be to the advantage of the rulers to see to it that only their views were put before His Highness. Certainly the poor subjects, the people who suffer most, would have no chance of making their grievances directly known to him. And even granting that Prince Su learned much more than the average high official would be likely to do, the supine and lethargic conduct of affairs in Peking would probably mean the pigeon- holing of his report and the ignoring of his recommenda- tions. If reform necessarily followed upon commissions and deputations, China and her subject tribes would have been in the van of progress long ere now. That she still ambles along behind all other nations with set- backs, more or less severe, occurring with painful sequence is proof of the fact that something more than wagging of flags and blaring of trumpets is necessary to the correc- tion of abuses in the social life of the land. For while recent changes in China have wonderfully impressed the people of Western countries, it is but the simple truth to state that the internal government of the people has undergone but little improvement, and that the further you get away from the centre of things, as in these wide regions beyond the Wall, the more glaring and flagrant 352 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA do abuses appear. So long as simple folk are in danger of having their cattle carried off in open daylight, so long as peaceful travellers are exposed to the possibility of being met on main roads, robbed and perhaps murdered almost within gun-shot of troops and officials, so long as innocent girls and comely women live in dread of being carried off to serve the basest passions of men who recognise no laws either of God or man, just so long will the administration of Outer Chihli be a reproach and a shame to the Central Government of Peking, and de- serving the reprobation of all just men. That is a very mild way of putting the truth. As to the possibilities of trade and commerce in these regions, again one must fall foul of the Central Govern- ment, who hinder the development of the natural resources of the country, whether by barring the opening of gold- and coal-mines by foreigners, or by making no provision for the quick transit of goods, either of export or import. It is matter of common knowledge that the hills which gird the northern border of the province of Chihli hide beneath their surface both coal and gold. Yet apart from a few places like the native mines men- tioned in these pages, and the three or four gold-washing stations of the Government, the precious minerals are still ungotten, while a population waits to profit by the production of what Nature is prepared to yield. I hold no brief for concession hunters, and sympathise very largely with the “ China for the Chinese” cry. This is their land, and they are the people who should profit most by the development of her resources. To exploit China for the mere enrichment of people 12,000 miles away is a theory that could never approve itself to me. But when those responsible for China and Chinese government manifest only and always the dog-in-the-manger policy, to the detriment of the people they exist to care for, it is CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 353 time for a recasting of judgments. Here are undoubted possibilities of profit and advantage to the subjects, yet a short-sighted policy of insane exclusiveness stands between the money that could develop these potentialities and the people who would benefit by them most. And every now and again these same people, dependent on their fields or their flocks, are plunged into a more abject condition of need and poverty by drought, flood, or disease, while the official at Peking revels in his luxuries, and cares little for the starving multitude. Unquestion- ably the opening of mines under competent control would mean an increase of wealth and comfort circu- lating in the territory. Yet because there is no Chinese money forthcoming such openings must be delayed, and the people may starve. It is a perverted and callous view of official responsibility which leads to that result. Some sign of progress appears in the recent inform- ation that there is in contemplation the construction of a railway from Chin Chou Fu to Taonan, a busy town north-west of Ch’ao Yang, and thence possibly to Tsi- Tsi-Har, on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Such a line, if constructed, should touch not only at Ch’ao Yang and Fu Hsing Ti, but should, either by direct or branch lines, enter such places at Chien Ch’ang, P’ing Ch’uan, and Ch’ih Feng. Though for great part of the way such a line would necessarily run through long stretches of sparsely populated country, even as the Trans-Siberian line does, yet the advantages accruing to the towns I have named, as to others that would come within the sphere of railway influence, would be greater than can be told here. The ideal plan, however, would seem to be, first, to link up the cities of Inner Mongolia by a line starting from Chin Chou Fu, going to Ch’ao Yang T’a Tzu Kou 24 354 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA and Pakou, with towns intervening, thence north to Hata, and from there to Lama Miao. From Pakou or from Lama Miao a branch line could be run with little difficulty to Jehol, while the main line would go forward to Kalgan, north-west of Peking, and unite with the line recently completed to that town. In this way there would be avoided the expense and difficulty of laying a track across the mountain roads that lead from Peking to Jehol, and there would be tapped an immense tract of country, with a total mileage of some 600 or 700 miles, which, in the summer and autumn, is one smiling harvest field of grain and beans, as also a country from whence come so many of the furs and skins exported from Tientsin and Newchuang. If this line were an accomplished fact, then the more ambitious scheme to Tsi-Tsi-Har would touch most of the important centres in the northern parts, and be an inestimable boon to the land. We wait in hope that some such scheme as here suggested will ere long come within the range of practical politics. If the vigorous and enlightened man at present at the head of the Board of Communications, His Excellency Hsii Shih Ch’ang, is permitted to hold his office a few years longer, then these and other lines will be reckoned among the effective forces making for the development and enlightenment of the lesser-known parts of this wonderful land. A few lines as to the Mongol people themselves and the impression they make upon the stranger within their gates. Much has been written from time to time of their ingenuousness of character and their engaging simplicity of life, especially in contrast with the blatant obtrusiveness of their neighbours, the pure Chinese. And indeed there is much in the primitive manners and customs of the people in the plains that is very welcome to the man who, when in China proper, can never get CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 355 away from prying eyes or beyond the range of inquisi- tive and, sometimes, insolent questions. The Mongol, speaking generally, is a gentler mortal than his Chinese brother. Possibly he is equally curious, but not nearly so cock-sure of himself, and certainly much more timid in the presence of strangers. I met some notable excep- tions of this rule in my various tramps, but in the main the demeanour of the Mongols is that of a conquered people, who have lost whatever ambition or fighting qualities their ancestors may have possessed in the halcyon days of Kublai Khan, and who know they are in the presence of their masters whenever they stand before the pushing, self-assertive sons of Han. In all business matters the poor Mongol is no match for the Chinese. The adroit scheming and plausible duplicity of the latter make the Mongol a mere child in their hands, with the result that wherever Mongols and Chinese meet and mix, the latter dominates thought, controls business, and pushes the former farther and farther back away from the land and its products. There is a sense in which that is but the operation of the natural law of the survival of the fittest. The Chinese is both pushful and patient: he will labour incessantly where the Mongol is content to idle harm- lessly round: land that in Mongol hands lies fallow and unproductive, in a few years, under Chinese nurture, can be made to yield abundant harvests. And as land means wealth, it follows that gradually the original dweller in the regions beyond the Great Wall, the simple, childlike Mongol, has been and is being made to give place to a more virile and vigorous people, who have no compunctions of spirit in laying claim to what they have done so much to reclaim. All the same, it is a pathetic spectacle to see the Mongols like so many dumb driven cattle held back from diligent culture of 356 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA the land as much by their own indolent habits as by the interdictions of their princes, and forced to yield their ancestral soil to the rapacious but thrifty settler from Chihli or Shantung. Whether it be his very weakness that appeals to one I know not. But certain is it that he attracts the stranger in a way the Chinese never do, and as one who has seen much of both peoples, I have a very warm heart towards the Mongol. Yet saying so much, I must say more, and that about the much-belauded hospitality of the Mongols. Readers of Abbé Huc and James Gilmour will remember how enthusiastic they become about the hospitality of the Mongol people. One hesitates to act the iconoclast, especially in opposition to two such men, but my experience is that hospitality, as we men of the West understand it, is absolutely unknown in Mongolia. Quite true, the cases in which a traveller would be turned away from a settlement are very rare indeed. I was only once refused admission to a house, and that was for the perfectly justifiable reason of sickness. It may appear an ungracious thing to suggest a lack of hospitality after such experiences, but to me it does seem as though one is admitted into most houses on sufferance, and simply because it is the unwritten law of the land that all who come should be entertained for at least one night. There is nothing of the warmth of welcome that meets a traveller who turns up suddenly at the humble home of a French priest or a British miner, living and working in a lonely place. The Mongol takes you in because he cannot keep you out. He is no more pleased to see you than you are to see the vermin that crawl upon you in his hut and make your life a misery to you. And he is more glad to see you go than he ever is to see you come. Yet before you go he looks for the payment that makes the transaction CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 357 a purely business one, and leaves no sense of obligation on either side. Wherever we stayed, save in one or two of the best Chinese homes, we paid well for all we had. In the best homes as well as in the worst the same thing was true, and some of the best homes proved to be the worst, so far as their cash demands went. Of that I make no complaint. The traveller would much rather pay as he goes, and since most things are cheap there, it is not amiss to give a little more than the just sum. It at least prepares the way for the next foreigner who happens along. But that is not hos- pitality as we understand it. It is pure business, as much a business transaction as the presentation and settlement of your bill at the Hotel Cecil would be on the conclusion of your stay there. And unless I have been most unfortunate in the people I met, and in whose houses or yards I slept, I really wonder what there is to awaken so much enthusiasm. For myself, I infinitely prefer a Chinese inn to any Mongol homestead I have seen. Itis cleaner, for one thing, though that may not be saying much. And in a Chinese inn you can gene- rally get what you want in the way of food for man and beast, while in Mongolia one of the most serious problems facing the traveller is this very important problem of the commissariat. No account of Mongolia would be complete without some special reference to Lamaism, that system of the Buddhist religion which, carried from Tibet, so com- pletely dominates the Mongol mind and life. Never have I seen a more “ religious” people than the Mongols. Their Lama temples are everywhere, none neglected or dilapidated. The most neglected-looking Lama temple I have seen is the famous one at Peking, which is a great contrast to what you will see anywhere on the plains, Every Mongol family has one or more Lamas among its 358 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA members, the unwritten law being that every second son, and as many more as the nearest abbot may decide, shall be dedicated from birth to the priestly life. Many of the homes have the Lama altar tended by the old mother or grandmother with shaven head, and the curious little brass censers, like salt-cellars, in which incense is offered or wine burnt, are among the commonest sights. Daily exercises of devotion are conducted by the Lamas in the temples, consisting of nothing more than the endless but harmonious chanting of the Buddhistic formula, “ P’u Sa Arimata.” At the temple fairs and festivals the people come in their thousands to worship and give, and one can never get away from the fact that here is a land where religion enters into every jot and tittle of daily life. But the condition of the Mongol people is a stern condemnation of Lamaism. Of the beautiful self-abnega- tion of the Indian prince these people know nothing. Of the rules of the Order or the tenets of the “Way” they are deplorably ignorant. The religion has degene- rated into a set of “senseless and fatal corruptions which have overwhelmed the ancient Buddhist beliefs,” and consists now merely in performances of external for- malities that have no power to amend the life or cleanse the spirit. For the Lamas themselves one can have but little respect. They are the least desirable, the most offensive of their race. However viewed, they are most unlovely, and whether thought of economically, morally, or religiously, they are an incubus on the land. Economically, it cannot be good that so many able- bodied men should be permitted to live so idle a life as falls to the lot of the Lamas. They congregate in communities, and live unproductive, and _ therefore worthless, lives. They do not work in the fields: they do not herd the flocks : some few do practise medicine, but CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 359 it is a case of Heaven help the patient! The only thing they seem to do beyond their ecclesiastical tasks is in community to prepare the food for their meals, and even that is brought to them by their parishioners. The criti- cism made by Colonel Waddell upon the Tibetan Lamas applies with equal force to the Mongol of that ilk. He is the representative of the only culture the people know, the vicegerent of the gods of Buddhism, and the supposed teacher and interpreter of the truths they hold to so tenaciously. Yet he makes not the least attempt to teach or educate his supposedly less-favoured brother who supplies him with his food and clothing, with the result that wherever Lamas congregate, you have the largest conglomeration of ignorance and superstition that can be met anywhere. Men who should be the directors of thought and inspirers of action are the embodiments of the worst features of untutored human character. How different might things be if the outbuildings of the temples were turned into schools and the best of the Lamas made teachers. But that is the very last thing the Lama would think of, or be fitted for. Morally, Lamaism is an open and filthy sore. It is simply impossible to reproduce in print the tales every- where heard of vice and immorality of the most virulent and shameless character. The pen is not made that could write it all down. It must be left to the imagina- tion to picture the worst orgies of the cities of the plain, or the fashionable vices of the satiated rakes of ancient Rome or modern Babylon, to come anywhere near an appreciation of what is commonly known to take place in these monasteries of the Mongol deserts and plains. Think of scores, and even hundreds, of young lads and men, strong, lusty, full-blooded young fellows, living under a vow of celibacy, and yet conscious of no restraint from their religion in regard to the blackest and 360 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA vilest sins. What can it mean but deterioration of body, mind, and soul, until the whole heart is sick and the whole nature corrupt, in a way which can hardly be believed even when seen. For the moral welfare of the growing Mongol race the dispersion of the monasteries would be a Heaven-sent blessing. Religiously, Lamaism is without strength, virility, or uplift. Whatever its fundamental theories may be, in practice it resolves itself into a miserably selfish idea of making oneself sure of the Buddhistic heaven, and has no thought for the world of men and women that lies outside the door of the temple. There is no attempt made to hold up before the people any pure ideals of life and character : no effort to amend or beautify the natures so simple and yet so defiled by sin. Lying and cheating flourish unchecked by the Lamas, sometimes indeed fostered by their example. A man becomes a Lama not because he has any inward impulsion to a holy life, but because it is the custom of his country and people. And even if by reflection and meditation he passes beyond the common notion of a Lama’s life, even then his primary concern is to ensure his own eternal safety, let others do as they may. “Where there is no vision the people perish.” “He that loveth his life shall lose it.” Each of these familiar passages finds illustration in the Lamaism of Mongolia. Beneath the most beautiful temples of the land the people wallow in their poverty, ignorance, and sin. And within the so-called sacred halls the very devotees and exponents of the faith are men of narrow, cramped outlook, mean and selfish disposition, evil heart and life. It is a lifeless system, which represses natural affection, quenches social energy, unmans the man who practises it, and makes him to be a mere phrase-repeating machine. With a mistaken notion of what religion is and means, with, at the best, an imperfect comprehension OONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 361 of the doctrines enunciated by their great Master, strain- ing at the gnat of formality and liturgy while swallowing the camel of selfishness and vice, Lamaism stands condemned as an effete and useless system, which has long ago lost whatever power it ever possessed to mould and govern human life. And yet it is just this colossal system of Lamaism, bad as it is, which is the most effective obstacle to the Christian missionary, and that almost broke the heart of so brave a man as James Gilmour. The attempt to evangelise Mongolia presents one of the greatest prob- lems that faces Christian enterprise to-day. The land is so wide and immense: the means of communication so expensive and precarious: the population so sparse and scattered: the people so ignorant and _ illiterate, and as a consequence so superstitious, that the task might well appal the stoutest heart and try the strongest faith. But such difficulties as all these can be overcome, with the necessary tact, and patience, and endurance. What baffles the Christian evangelist is this baneful spectre of Lamaism, rearing its proud head over the entire country, claiming to control both body and soul, and pronouncing awful and eternal woes on any man who dares to turn away from it. Humanly speaking, it is an absolute impossibility for any Mongol to avow himself a Christian and remain among his own people and clan. To an extent un- dreamed of in China, the priest terrorises over the layman, and a profession of adherence to any other faith would inevitably mean a system of persecution that would wear out the unfortunate man’s nerves, if he did not sicken and die from some mysterious disease. The only hope for a Mongol who wishes to attach himself to the Christian faith would be to remove far away from the influence and association of the people among whom 362 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA he has been reared. The difficulty of that is too patent to need elaboration. Roman Catholics claim to have Mongol converts among their Christians, and old Abbé Huc, sixty years ago, had sanguine hopes of winning both Mongolia and Tibet to Mother Church. But James Gilmour lived and died for Mongolia, yet never baptized a single Mongol into the Christian faith, And one of the sanest and most experienced missionaries I know, with a wide and sympathetic knowledge of the Mongols, their language and their religion, gives it as his experience that he knows of only one Mongol who can be called a sincere Christian man. And yet there are not wanting men, and women too, who see in the ignorance and need of Mongolia their inspiration to devote themselves to the stupendous task of evangelising their land. The British and Foreign Bible Society supports its energetic agent, Mr. N. Larsen, with his headquarters at Kalgan, who spends his time in travelling hither and thither scattering the Word of God, while his brave wife takes her summer holidays on the plains teaching Mongol women. In Jehol, Pakou, and another small town called Tu Chia Wo P’u, an earnest and devoted body of missionaries, the senior of whom is Mr. Robert Stephen, are, by their holy lives and faithful labours, slowly but surely building up a Church of true believers, mostly, if not entirely, Chinese. At T’a Tzu Kou and Ch’ao Yang the Irish Presbyterian Mission have entered into the labours initiated by James Gilmour. Hata waits for its first Protestant missionary, and probably the next year or two will see an earnest man settled there; while K’u Lu Kou, important by reason of its splendid monastery, no less than for its busy market, is the scene of constant effort on the part of the Irish Presbyterian Mission from Hsin Min Fu, and there both Chinese and Mongol tracts and Scriptures are CONCLUDING IMPRESSIONS 363 regularly sold as a preliminary to settlement in the town. The Roman Catholics are working in Pakou, T’a Tzu Kou, Hata, and a few other places, besides in the far north at Mao Shantung. Their devotion is most praise- worthy, and so far as I could learn their conduct of their work of a fine character. How many converts they claim I have no means of knowing. But they have a practice of insisting on a whole family submitting to baptism, when a man seeks to enter their Church, with the twofold result of swelling numbers much faster than can be done by any Protestant Mission, and of having within their Church a large percentage of uninformed adherents. West of Kalgan some new work has been undertaken among the Mongols by the Scandinavian Alliance, settled at Patse Bolong, where about fifty Mongol families live on land belonging to the Mission. Here the settlers are taught agriculture by the missionaries, and at the same time instructed in the gospel truth. The Swedish Mongolian Mission, the head of which is the good Prince Bernadotte, has also begun work at Patse Bolong. Yet even with all these activities there remain large tracts of country unvisited, and thousands of people untouched by the Christian Church. The eastern part, with which this book has been concerned, still awaits the real successor to James Gilmour, who will probably be found, not in any Western land, but in some zealous, sincere Chinese Christian, preferably with good medical skill, and who will count not his life dear unto himself in his endeavours to carry to the benighted and oppressed people of Mongolia the truth that brings freedom, the truth that makes alive. To help somewhat in the possibility of such work was the leading purpose of the journeys that have been described in this book, and we 364 TRAMPS IN DARK MONGOLIA can confidently hope that, however slow the process may be, some day the Light of the World will eclipse the Light of Asia in dark Mongolia, and even the attractive figure of the Buddha pale before the glorious beauty and charm of the Incarnate Son of God, whose mission was and is to save the lost and despairing of every race, to bring light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide their feet into the way of peace. The substance of the larger portion of these pages has already appeared in the North China Daily News, and grateful acknowledgment is hereby made to the proprietors for permission to publish in this expanded, revised, and permanent form. Thanks are also due to my old chum of college days, the Rev. Daniel Patterson, of Brighouse, Yorks, and to Dr. Baxter, my colleague at Yung Ping Fu (now on furlough), for kindly undertaking to correct the proofs and see this work through the press. ¥. A. TIENTSIN, NORTH CHINA, Fanuary, 19io. SS ~~. ug . a == 0 : af we a wahyd vi al __ jot er \\ CHIN-citoU PY a tye 7 ae s] LO Tee etnn Mas i} Th cf NA Read . te aN, an . oF vo | —_———_— 40 2 ane SKETCH MAP OF CHIH-LI PROVINCE BEYOND THE GREAT WALL i S ) BY “y THE REV. JOHN HEDLEY. oY (Mr: Hedleys Routes in red) . ‘AN cow \ Route fiowed. on first journey shown a ssrmomnveastt siseMirna signet . Scale Linch to 24 miles. a a « ¢econd ov . . . + phdrel ” . 33 rile a - See es) Hae 7 eI rs oe ae cae ee ST oi ey ne wo ai INDEX A Agriculture, god of, 169 Alkali, 289 Ao Han Banner, chap. xiv. p. 216 Archery, 144, 150 B . Bann, 73 Battles, 14 Beacon lights, 7 Bible selling, 30, 35, 41, 50, 56, 60, 61, 67, 82 Boxer rising, 6, 16, 51, 76, 181, 336 Brigands, 10, 22, 37, 45, 56, 61, 66, 68, 99, 156, 161, 162, 166, chap. xiii. p. 200, chap. xvi. p. 249, 290, 399; 329, 344 Brotherhood, sworn, 123 Buddha, 28, 47, 136, 140, 250, 296, 311, 316, 336, 357 By-paths, chap. iv. p. 50 Cc Camels, 261, 317 Card of courtesy, 191 Carnation-Peaked Hill, chap. xii. p. 185 Carpets, manufacture of, 87 Carts, Chinese, 20 365 Cavern Hill, 12 Ch’a Kan Tao Hai, 264 Ch’a P’eng, 98 Chang Chia Tien, 93 Chang Li, 8 Ch’ao Yang, 331, 332 Ch'ao Yang Fu, 73, 102, 156, chap. XX. P. 319 Ch’e Ch’ang Kou, 23, 24, 93 Ch’e Ch’ang Kou Men, 93 Ch’en Ching Ssu, 125 Ch’eng Te Fu, 45, 46 Ch’i Ch’i Le Tai, 324 Chi Kung Shan, 26 Ch’ia Kan Tao Hai, 261 Ch’ien An Hsien, 25, 88 Chien Ch’ang, 62 Chien Ch’ang Hsien, 4o, 101 Chien Ch’ang Ying, chap. x. p. 151, 165, 166, 202, 214 Chien Ch’eng Ying, 21, 87 Ch’ien Lung, Emperor, 46 Chien Ping, 220 Chien Ping Hsien, 156 Chieh Lung K’ou, 37 Chinese, thought of foreigners, 26, 109 » Officials, 75, 84, 105, 181, 182 » v. Mongols, 28, 33, 39 366 Ch’ih Feng Hsien, 75, 165 Chili, Outer, 27, 70, 74 Chin Chou, 102 339 Chin Chou Fu, 32, 38, 72, 74, 98, 345 Chin Lung Ho, io, 11, 17, 26, 29, 53, 87 Chin Shih Huang Ti, 15, 16, 18 Ch’ing Shan Yuan, 87 Chu Ch’ang Ai Liu, 266 City of Eternal Peace, chap. i. Coal mines, 64, 170, 204, 330 Cochrane, Dr., 336 Confucius, 2 Confucian temple, 339 Cremation, 288 Crops, 30 Customers, 21, 95 D Davies, Major, 112 Dead, disposing of, 172, 270 Deer, red, 202 Desert, chap. xv. Disappearing River, 167, 246 Distilleries, 162, 165, 202, 231, 236 Dogs, 245, 258, 273, 286, 295, 319 “ Dog whip,” 100 Dolonor, 72, 276 Dore, Mr., 174 Dragon King Temple, 12 Dust storm, 116, 173, 212, 224, 227, 340 E Education, modern, &c., 9, 49, 106, 198 Emperors of China, 13, 15, 19, 46, 96, 120, 121, 124, 280 INDEX Erh Tao Chang Tzu, 67 Escort, 20, 44, 201, 211, 216, 270 F Fairs, 3, 32 Feng Shui Liang, 302 Feng tien, 74. Firearms, 21 Fire god, 301 Floods, precaution against, 10 Fo K’an Kou, 89 Fo Yeh Lung, 30, Fu Hsing Ti, 322 G | Gambling, 29, 92, 158, 305 | Gilmour, James, 31, chap. iii. p. 102, 109, 318, 336, 361 God of literature, 7 Goitre, 88 Gold-mining, 67, 342 Gould, R. J., 20, 95 Governing cities, 348 Grass lands, chap. v. p. 70 Graves, 172, 270 H Ha Ch’i La, 235-6 Hai Ch’eng, 72 Hai Liu Tu, 277, 279 Ha La Mu T’ou, 209, 218 Ha La Ying Tzu, 292 Ha Ma Shan, 45 Hata, chaps. xi., xii. ; 286, 362 Hei Ch’eng, 151 Hei Ch’eng Tzu, 325-6 Heng Ho, 86 Hospitality, Chinese, 60, 133, 142 164, 199, 219, 225, 232, 234 Hospitality, Mongol, 190, 239, 249, 255, 259, 261, 289, 294, 299, 256 INDEX Hot Water Baths, 113 Hsiang Lu Shan, 45 Hsiang Shui, chap. xv. p. 234 Hsiang Shui Miao, 249 Hsiao Ch’eng Tzu, 38 Hsiao Ho Yen, 220 Hsiao Ling Ho, 32, 112, 345 Hsiao Niu To’un, 228, 328 Hsiao T’a Tzu Kou, 30 Hsiao Ying Tzu, 22 Hsien Feng, Emperor, 46, 338 Huang Chia Wo P’u, 163 Huang Ho, 276 Hu Ch’eng Tzu, 325-6 Hu T’ou Shih, 26, 29 Hu T’ung Yu, 50 Hung Miao Tzii, 119 Hung Shih La Ling, 45 Huo Erh Huo K’e Ho, 151 I Immortality, 29, 359 Impressions, chap. xxii. p. 348 Inns, 52, 54, 59, 61, 65, 66, 86, 89, 95, 98, 113, 115, 154, 157, 159, 165, 174, 199, 210, 219, 220, 228, 303, 321, 327, 329, 341 Irrigation, 158 J Japanese, 305, 309, 325, 349 Jehol, 20, 44, 45, 46, 74, 75 Je Shui T’ang, 111, 113 K Kan Kou, 60, 62, 93 K’ang Hsi, Emperor, 19, 96, 280 K’ang K’ang, 228 Kao Kao Ts’ai, 298 Kao Liang Kan Tzu Tien 160 ff 367 Kingfisher’s altar, 12 Kou Ch’iu Ling Tzu, 112, 119 Kou Men Tzu, 30 Kuan Ying Tzu, 325 Ku Chu Kuoa, 1 K’u Lu Kou, 72, chap. xviii. p. 282, 393 K’u Lu Chi, chap. xix. p. 302 K’u Lung Shan, 12 Kun T’u Ho, 157 Kiin T’u Ling, 267 K’ung Ch’ang Man, 95 Kung Fu Tzu, 2 Kung Yeh Ying Tzu, 65 L Lama, temples, chap. xvi. p. 249 Lamas, Lamaism, 28, 36, 47, 95, 99, 112, 134, 136, 139, 141, 142, 160, 195, 231, 240, chap. xvi. p. 271, 278, 300, 303, 309, 315, 316, 320, 323, 353 ff Lama Miao, 72 Lama Tung, 39 Lan Chia Ha La, 227 Lan Ho, Io, 11 Lang Ko Chuang, 86 Lanchou, 8, 11, 12, 49 Lao Fu, 228 ff Lao Ho, 72, 74, 112, 119, 151, 157, 189, 231, 276, 283 Lao Ho Cha, 119, 112, 201 Larks, 189 Larsen, Mr. N., 362 Leng K’ou, 17, 20, 21, 37, 88, 93 Li Chin Wang, chap viii. Li K’e Yung, 121, 122 Li Tse Ch’eng, 14, 19 Li San, 34 Liang Dynasty, 126 ff Liddle, Rev. J. D., 336 368 Liao Ho, 74 Liao Hsi, 72 Liao River, 72, 278 Liao Yang, 72 Liaotung, Gulf of, 32, 72 Lien Chia Wo Pu, 219 Lien Hwa P’ao Tzu, 238 Literature, god of, 7 Liu Chia K’ou, 17, 19, 68 Liu T’iao Ying Tzu, 297 Lo Hang T’ang temple, 48 Loa-Yeh-Liang, 321 Loess formation, 154 ff Lung Wang Miao, 12 M Macartney, Lord, 46 Ma Chia Tzu, 171 Ma Chuan Tzu, 92, 161 Ma Lien Chuang, 228 Ma Yu Kun, General, 44, 104, 309, 323, 334, 349 Magistrates, 75, 107 Manchu rulers, 11, 13, 14, 19, 27 Manchus, 49, 81, 89, 90, 343-4 Manchuria, 342 Mandarin, 105 Mang Niu Ying Tzu, 62, 64, 112 Markets, 3, 32, 53, 64, 67, 87 Marriages, 28, 29, 31, 39, 287, 354 ff Marisami, 80, 91, 148, 206, 236, 306 May Day, 116, chap. ix. p.133 Mei Li Ho, 165 Mei Li Ying Tzu, 158 Mencius, 8 Meng Chia Wo Pu, 119 Meng Kou Ying T’zu, 328 Ming Dynasty, 11, 13, 19 Missionary Centenary Conference, 71 INDEX Missionary possibilities, chap. xxii. Mistletoe, 68 Mohammedan mosque, 104, 185 Mohammedans, 41, 104, 115, 308 Mongols, dress, habits, character- istics, &c., 28, 29, 33, 39, 64, 65, 144, 135, 241, 243 ff, 270, 274, 289 Monastery, Lama, 309 Mongols, K’u Lu Ch’i, chap. xix. Pp. 302 Mongol settlements, 73, 113, 119, 261 Mongolia, Inner, 20, 27, 61, 74 Morley’s, Mr., tragic story, 174 Mukden, 14, 72, 278 Mules and muleteer, 38, 45, 77, 78, 84, 153, 212, 216, 272, 284 Mu T’ou Téng, 57 N Nai Liu, 291 Nan Chuan, 159 Nankou, 16 Newchuang, 72, 102 Oo Official corruption, &c., 25, 47, 57) 75» 93 94 95» 181, 251, 279, 299, 394, 349 Opium smokers, 29, 45, 92, 118, 157, 158, 182, 331 P Pa Cha Chih Ling, 24, 29, 93, 95 Pa Chia, 203 Pa Ko T’u Ho, 331 Pa T’ieh Ying Tzu, 340 INDEX Pagodas, chaps. viii., xx. p. 319, 333) 345 Pai Niu Ts’un, 88, 95, 96, 97 Pai Yao, 331 Pakou, 20, 42, 43, 98 Pan Chia K’ou, 49 Pao Ku Lu, 112, 119 Pao Lao Yeh, 240 ff Parker, Rev. J., 336 Party, the members of the, 76 ff Passport, 84 Pawnshops, 162 Pear-trees, 57 Pei Lu, 99 Peking, 14, 16, 102 Penance, Mongol, 135 Pigtail, 27 Ping An Ti, 327 Ping Ch’u Chou, 44 Ping Ku, 64 Plains, Mongol, 268 ff Plane-table, 82 Po Li Huo Shao, 201, 225ff Polygamy, 29, 241, 300 Port Arthur, 72 Potala temple, 48 Prayer-wheels, 323 Preaching, street, 35, 41, 50, 56, 60, 61, 108 Prince Su, 183 ff, 350 Prospects, general, p. 348 Purposes of the trip, 72, 73 134, 138, 300, chap. xxii. R Railways, &c., 14, 16, 363 River, disappearing, 167, 246 Rivers, where two meet, chap. xvi. p- 268 369 Roman Catholics, 62, 63, 141, 180, 181, 337, 363 Russian troops, 7, 316, 349 S San Ch’a Kou, 53 San Chia, 119 San Shih Chia Tzu, 42, 157 San Tao Ho Tzu, 64 San T’ai, 65 San Yi Chan, 329 Sha Chin Kou, 67 Sha Ho, 22, 87 Sha T’o Kuo, 123, 172 Shan Hai Kuan, 8, 14, 16, 19, 25, 49 Shan Tsi Tzu, 227 Shantung, 155, 166 Shaven Head, 296 Shen Chia Tzu, 343 Shih Chia Tzu, 339 Shih La Ka Ho, 200, 202 Shih Men Tzu, 53 Shih Pei, 302 Shira Muren, 72, 74, 151, 157, 231, 276 ff Shuang Miao, 42 Shuang Shan Tzu, 55 Shui Chia Tzu, 343 Shui Chii Tzu, 342 Shun Chih, 14 Skin trade, 37, 308 Snuff, 239 Soldiers, 22, 37, 56, 122, 209, 217, 230, 264, 307, 323, 329, 341, 344 Somme, Father van, 180 Sounding Waters, 167, 247 Ssu Chia, 154 Ssu Kuo Ying Tzu, 66 Stealing, 29 370 Stocking, Emperor’s, 96 Street preaching, 35, 41, 50, 56, 60, 61, 108 Sung Dynasty, 121 Sung Shu Feng, 83 Surveyor, 80 T Ta Chang Tzu, 22, 97 Ta Ch’eng Tzu, 31, chap. iii. 65 Ta Hu Tien, 22 Ta Ling Ho, 331, 339 Ta Pai Hai, 220 Ta Pa Ying Tzu, 150 Ta Shih Men, 23 T’a Tzu Kou, 20, 38, 39, 40, 97, 102, III, 112, 156 T’ai Ku Shan, 227 T’ai Ming T’a, chap. viii. p. 116 T’ai Ming Ch’eng, 120 ff, 151 T’ai Ping Chuang, 111 T’ai T’ou Ying, 161 T’ang Dynasty, 39, 120 T’ang Tao Ho, 23, 24, 67 Tao Erh Teng, 26, 30, 97 T’ao Liu K’ou, 17, 53 Tartar General, 74 Telegraph, 42, 101, 335 Temples, 8, 12, 13, 25, 29, 47, 97, 103, 105, 110, 160, 185, chap. xvi. P- 323, 324) 335, 357 Tiao Yii T’ai, 12 Tibet, 27, 313 Tien Chia T’un, 344 Tien Hou Lung, 273 Tien Shan, 276 Tientsin, 16, 37, 42, 102 Tongshan, 8 Trade possibilities, 352 Trained teachers, need of, 108 INDEX Tree worship, 9, 97 Trip, 1st, chaps. i—iii. » 2nd, chap. iv. » 3rd, chaps. v.-xxi. Ts’ai Chia Fen, 11 Ts’ai Chia Yui, 54, 55 Ts’ai Ta Jen, 12 Tsa Tzu Kou Ling, 59 Tso Lao Ho, 112 T’u Shan, 25, 95 Tu Shih Men, 22, 89 Tung Yuan Pao Shan, 204 Turner, Capt. F. G., R.E., 76 U United Methodist Mission, 13 Vv Veterinary surgeon, 272 Vice, 62 Viceroy of Chihli, 74 Ww Wa Fang Tien, 39, 99 Wa Pu, 288 Waddell, Colonel, 359 Wall of Yung P’ing Fu, 5 Wall, The Great, chap. ii. p. 15 Wang Hai Miao, 25 Wan Li, 19 Weng Ch’ang Shou, 81, 93 Wingate, Lieut.-Col., 70, 76 112 Wolf, 163 Wu Erh T’u Pan, 156 Wu Lan, 56 Wu Lan Kang Kang, 320 Wu San Kuei, General, 14, 19 Wu Tao Ling, 98 Y Ya Li Sen Ta, 295 Yamen, &c., 9, 93, 94, 105 Yang Chang Ho, 201, 227 Yang Shu Liang, 42 Yang Shu Kou, 42 Yang Shu Wo Pu, 56 Yang Shu Mu, 299 Yang Tai Tzu, 54 Yang Ts’un, 182 Yangste River, 27 Yao Tu Kou, 59 Yellow River, 151, 276 INDEX 371 Yellow Jacket, 280 » Sea, 72 Yen Ho Ying, Yi Ch’i Miao, 13 Yi Ma Chan Miao, 254 Ying Ch’ing Ho, 200, 201 Yu Lu Shan, 26 Yu T’ien Kao, 231-3 Yuan Dynasty, 130, 287 Yuan Min, 83 Yuan Pao Shan, 170 Yuan Mao Lung, 202 Yung P’ing Fu, chap. i. The Gresbam Press, UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED WOKING AND LONDON, RANeean He it if is CT